


bright light in the sky

by athena3062



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Florist AU, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-07-11 00:10:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 28,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7014358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athena3062/pseuds/athena3062
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU. Killian Jones wants to put the past behind him, to sell the house he’s never called home. After her father’s death, Belle French is struggling to keep the family flower shop afloat. And Emma Swan never planned to run a hardware store on Main Street but she doesn’t waste time wondering about what might have been. In a little Maine town, the clock tower is a bright star, guiding their way home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Killian woke up abruptly, jarred into consciousness by the ringing phone. He struggled to his feet, sleeping bag sliding against the sofa. He’d been struggling with the floorboards long past midnight. His target date of April seemed impossible; the house was far from ready.

The phone pealed loudly and he yanked the bright yellow receiver off its cradle. "What?" He leaned heavily against the doorframe.

"Good you're home.” Belle sounded panicked. “I tried calling your cell but it goes right to voicemail."

“What’s wrong?” Killian squinted around the kitchen but without a clock it was impossible to judge the time. His phone was somewhere in the house. Maybe upstairs. He’d been taking measurements for the bathroom windows last night. The battery must have died.

“I hate to do this but I need your help. There’s a pick up order and Will was supposed to be back but the truck broke down and he has to deliver the orchids and the school librarian’s out sick so I’m here and I can’t leave until three.”

“Slow down.” Killian could barely separate one sentence from other, between the terrible connection and Belle’s rapid-fire delivery. “Where are you?”

“The school,” she replied. “Doc’s out sick so the principal asked if I could cover. And Will was supposed be back by now.” Her voice rose higher and higher with each word.

“What do you need?”

“Can you open the shop? Just until David picks up his order. I wouldn’t ask but it’s for Mary Margaret and I -”

Killian wanted to argue that the flower shop wasn't his concern but Belle was talking faster now, going on about someone named Doc. “Alright. Alrigtht. I’ll take care of it.”

“Really? Killian thank you so much. I owe you one. Really. Do you still have the spare key?”

“Sure. Listen Belle I should go.” He hung up before Belle could continue. Killian considered a shower but decided clean clothes were good enough. He'd only be standing behind the counter for an hour or two at most.

There was a thick layer of frost on the grass when he left the house. His field coat didn't provide much warmth.

He didn’t remember ever having a spare key to the shop, but knew the only place they would have stored it. The old truck was parked at the end of the driveway. He’d been storing it in the garage but had moved it out to make room for all the furniture and boxes he needed to get out of his way. Now the garage door barely shut.

He climbed in the passenger side and opened the glove compartment. Napkins and papers spilled onto the floor. Killian stuck his hand inside but didn’t encounter a keychain. “Dammit.” If the key wasn’t in his glove box, he didn’t have any idea where it could be. Frustrated, he left the mess on the floor and slid across the bench seat. It took three tries but he finally was able to shift into gear.  The heater sputtered but didn't take the edge off until he was nearly at the store.

The dashboard clock was useless. It wasn't until he passed the clock tower that Killian saw the time. Ten fifteen. Too bloody early for his liking. He parked the car in front of Booth's Hardware. Without a spare key, he'd need to break in.

Killian barely registered the slam of the door behind him, glancing wildly around the hardware store.

"Do you need help?"

He looked down the first aisle. A woman was balanced on a ladder. Her blonde hair was tied back in a complicated braid that fell between her shoulder blades.

“I need to break a lock,” he replied.

She climbed down the ladder with ease. “You know most people don't advertise that they're going to commit a crime. But if you want to tell me where, I can have the Sheriff meet you." A smile twitched at the corner of her mouth.

Killian was in no mood to flirt or make small talk. "Do you know Belle?”

“Of course. Why?” Her demeanor changed, eyebrows coming together in a concerned expression.

He exhaled loudly. “She needs me to open the flower shop. Will’s stuck somewhere and she’s at the school?” He spread his hands, hoping she didn’t press him for more details. It was a miracle he’d remembered as much as he had. “Something about an order that has to be picked up.”

She considered him for a long minute. “Who are you?"

He extended his right hand. "Killian Jones."

Her eyes widened in recognition. "The mystery brother-in-law."

"Mystery?" He struggled to keep his tone light; brother-in-law stung. He should have married Milah when they were twenty-four and on top of the world with a job that paid him too much and no real responsibilities. Or when they were twenty-nine and she’d turned her attention to the house. Instead he’d waited too long. His job was a distant memory and the only thing he had left of Milah was barely habitable.

She released his hand. "Yeah. Belle mentioned you were back in town. I thought you were some kind of ghost."

He didn't answer. It was Milah who was the ghost, her memory haunting every corner. Killian realized that he had been standing silent for too long. He cleared his throat. "And you are?"

"Emma," she replied. "Emma Swan."

She reached under the counter and pulled out a shoebox. “I've got a spare key in here somewhere. Hang on.” She pulled out multiple keychains, dropping them against the counter.

“Got it.” Emma passed him a small key attached to a plastic keychain shaped like a lobster. “Just bring it back.”

Killian pocketed the key, baring his teeth in an approximation of a smile. "Will do." He could feel the lack of sleep making his movements jerky.

Outside he looked around at the empty sidewalks. If he couldn’t sell the house come spring, maybe Liam would cover a plane ticket. The idea of decamping to his brother’s home, tail between his legs, held little appeal.

The key worked perfectly. He stepped into the shop, flicking on the lights with his left hand. It looked the same: narrow and cramped, every wall filled with photographs. The counter ran along the right wall - the prep room and Maurice's office were at the back. Killian felt like he was underwater.

He should have brought coffee with him. The smell of dirt permeated the air. Minutes passed slowly and later, after the old computer had sputtered to life and he was on his twenty-seventh game of solitaire, the bell over the door rang sharply. The man closed the door behind him and crossed the floor.

“Hey, I’m picking up an order.” He leaned his hands against the counter. “Should be under David Nolan.”

“Got it,” Killian replied. The box was sitting on the table with a post-it note on its top. It was light enough for him to balance on his forearm without straining. He set the box on the counter. “Here you go.”

David lifted the lid. Inside was a large vase of white flowers. “Perfect. My wife’s going to love it.”

Killian realized that he had no idea how to work the cash register. Fortunately David passed him exact change. “Thanks man.”

He turned off the computer and the lights, locking the front door when he left.

The wind had picked up. He stuffed his right hand in his pocket, fingers tight around the borrowed key. Inside the hardware store a tall man stood behind the counter, writing in a ledger. “Did you need help?” he asked when Killian approached the counter.

He wanted to ask about Emma Swan. Instead he pulled the key out of his pocket. “I borrowed this to open the flower shop earlier and told Emma I’d return it.”

“I’ll tell her, thanks.” 


	2. Chapter 2

Emma glanced left and right before she crossed the street. The wind caught her hair, sending it whipping around her face and neck. She should have worn a hat. The gray-blue sky was depressing, steely clouds reminding her that no matter what the calendar said, spring was out of reach.

The weather was cold, even by Maine standards. Marco had picked a good year to retire. She wondered if he would change his mind and come back to visit once the weather turned warm. The store was too quiet; she wasn’t used to running it alone.

Once upon a time she’d dreamed of living by a beach – in her imagination she’d seen white sand, turquoise water and fluffy white clouds. Instead she was faced with Storybrooke’s stone-covered beach leading to the choppy ocean.

Emma stepped onto the sidewalk. The special loaned books were worse than regular library books, each with a paper band around the cover, due dates scribbled in purple ink. Henry had never gotten a late fine before; maybe this was one of those teachable moments Archie was always going on about during parent-teacher conferences.

Emma tightened her grip on the book. She needed to get to the library and back to the store before she froze.

The dinosaur phase wasn't new. It had started after Neal had introduced Henry to Jurassic Park. Of course her kid was more interested in reading about dinosaurs than watching the rest of the movies.

Emma pushed open the library door and came to an abrupt stop at the far end of the circulation desk.

Cora Mills stood in front of Belle. The cuffs of Cora's black coat were trimmed in fur and probably cost more than Emma's car. Her purse, presumably designer, was a dark red color and reminded Emma of blood.

Cora’s voice carried through the library. "You know the terms Miss French."

Emma turned away from the desk and looked out the windows at the empty street. She should have come later. Or earlier.

Cora didn’t bother to lower her voice. If anything she raised it. "I've already give you two extensions. Next time I won't be so kind."

"I understand." Belle's voice was firm.

"I'll expect to see you shortly then." Cora's heels clicked loudly on the laminate floor. She paused at the door and glanced over at Emma. "Miss Swan."

"Cora." Emma raised both eyebrows. Marco had refused to sell the store to Cora. She’d transferred her anger from Marco to Emma after he left town.

Cora yanked open the door, her gloves providing a barrier between her hands and the cold metal.

Emma waited until the door was closed before turning toward Belle. The librarian’s face was pale, shaking hands hovering over the keyboard. If Emma was a different person (Ruby or Mary Margaret), maybe she would know what to say.

"You okay?" Emma and Belle weren’t proper friends, even if Henry did spend almost all his free time at the library, but Ruby made them friends by association.

Belle nodded quickly, sliding an envelope beneath the counter. "Sorry about that." She gestured at the book. "What did Henry think?”

“He went through it twice.” Emma pushed the book across the counter. “If it didn’t have to go back, he’d probably keep it forever.”

Belle tapped her fingers over the keyboard. Her nails were painted a dark blue. “He can keep it longer,” she answered. “There aren’t any holds on it.”

“Really?” Emma felt like the walls were closing in; she didn't know how Belle could stand the silence.

Belle nodded, earrings bouncing. “Definitely. I know the university we borrowed it from. The librarian and I went to school together. I’ll extend the ILL request another week.”

Emma smiled. “Henry will be thrilled.” She tapped her finger against the counter. “Did Mary Margaret tell you that she made reservations for Ruby’s birthday?”

“Yeah.” Belle fastened a new paper over the book cover. “Seven, right?”

“Yup. Ashley’s going to meet us at the Rabbit Hole after. So it’s just the four of us.”

Belle pushed the book across the counter. “Sounds good.”

Emma fidgeted with her zipper. “Thanks for renewing the book.” She didn’t know what else to say.

The main door slammed open with a loud “Thomas careful” and an even loud shushing sound. Belle rolled her eyes. “Duty calls.”

Emma wrapped one hand around the book and sidestepped the taller child. The little one stood next to his mother as she pulled off his coat, sparing Emma from another round of small talk.

She yanked her hand-written sign off the door and pushed it open. Even with her coat, she could feel the dampness. Hot chocolate was definitely in order.

///////

Belle closed the library door behind her back. “Ready?” She locked the door and dropped her enormous keyring into her purse. Killian nodded, falling into step. He’d ducked her calls for two days before agreeing to dinner.

“How’s the renovation going?”

He shrugged. “Alright.”

The bathroom sink had begun to leak when he removed it; until he could get it fixed, he’d turned off the water. He’d either need to get his internet turned on so he could find an online video detailing how to fix it or find a plumber. Neither option was appealing.

Half of the lights on the second floor were burned out. The staircase railing was loose in spots and he couldn’t decide whether the door leading to the backyard had warped or if the hinges were rusted through.

Nothing felt real. He didn’t know how long it would take to make the house livable, much less bring a profit. Every room was a larger project than the one before: the roof needing replacing, window frames weren’t level, most of the interior doors were missing.

“Are you coming in?” Belle stood on the steps and looked down at Killian.

“Yeah. Let’s go.” They filed into the restaurant, warm air hitting his cheeks.

He waited until she’d taken off her coat and scarf, filling half of the booth with her outerwear, and two coffee mugs had been set down.

Belle reached for her menu as Granny came over to the table. “Hello stranger,” she said, placing two water glasses on the table and glancing down at him.

“Granny.” He flashed her a grin. “Good to see you.”

She took out her notepad. “I was wondering when you were going to get here. What happened? You learned how to cook in that big city?”

He shook his head. “Not a chance. Haven’t had a decent meal in almost two weeks.”

“And that’s my fault?” Granny looked over at Belle. “You look exhausted. Those rugrats keeping you busy?”

Belle nodded. “I can’t wait until Doc comes back from vacation. Maybe next year the Mayor can find some money in her budget to hire an assistant.”

“Good luck there,” Granny scowled. She didn’t make a secret of her feelings about Regina. “You two know what you want?”

Killian nodded. “Lasagna.”

Granny’s gaze flickered over to Belle who was still studying the menu. “I’ve got some meatloaf left.”

Belle nodded, pushing aside her menu. “That’s perfect.”

After Granny had left, Killian stared at Belle. “You sure you’re alright?”

She nodded, twisting her straw wrapper between two fingers. “Yeah.” Her smile was weak. “I guess you weren’t planning to work during your vacation?”

“Doesn’t matter.” He couldn’t meet her gaze. Now wasn’t the time to mention his situation. If he could sell the house, none of it would matter.

She dropped the curled paper on the table. He looked across the table. Belle wasn’t the type to hedge around a conversation.

“What’s on your mind?”

She inhaled sharply. “I hate to do this but are you busy this week?”

He couldn’t answer straight away. “What do you need?”

“There’s a wedding on Saturday. I was supposed to help Will with the centerpieces but now that Doc’s out, I can’t be in three places at once.”

“Centerpieces,” he repeated.

Belle shook her head. “Forget it. It’s fine.”

“Give me a minute to process,” he snapped. At the stricken expression on her face, Killian relented. Two weeks in town and he was already picking a fight with Belle. She was his only real friend and he was acting like a spoiled child. “Apologies.” He took a sip of his water, wishing it was something stronger.

“What type of centerpiece?”

“Orchids,” she replied.

He raised both eyebrows. “And your illustrator can handle it?”

Belle rolled her eyes. “Yes. Can you help?”

Killian nodded. “Course. It’ll give me a chance to know him better. Ask him what his intentions are.”

“That’s old-fashioned, even by your standards.” Belle leaned down, hands going to her purse. She handed him three keys attached to a faded leather strap. “Take my keys. Just don’t lose them.”

Killian pocketed the key as Granny brought out their food.


	3. Chapter 3

Killian shifted the truck into reverse, swearing when his tire connected hard with the curb. He spun the wheel around, easing his foot off the brake. Once the truck was mostly straight, he shifted roughly into park. He turned off the ignition, left hand tight around the steering wheel and yawned loudly.

Maybe this was his punishment: after years of running he was trapped in a town where time seemed to move backwards.

Killian stumbled out of the truck, unaccustomed to the quiet. The sidewalks lining Main Street were empty. He could skip the store, make his way to Granny’s and pour coffee down his throat, but he’d promised Belle.

Most of his night had been spent hanging drywall on the third floor. He’d torn down the sketch mapping out the four rooms (three bedrooms and a full bath). His chest had ached to see Milah’s sloppy letters, but she would have torn it down herself, had she been there.

He crossed the street without a glance in either direction. If the hardware store wasn’t open, he’d need to head to the shop.

Killian pushed open the hardware store’s front door with another yawn. The store was warm and smelled like lumber and something spicy.

“Morning.” Emma was standing next to the door, two open boxes at her feet.

He struggled not to yawn in her face. “Hello.”

“What do you need?“

“Garbage bags,” he replied. He’d pulled a wrinkled shirt from his duffel, not bothering to look at the color.

“Aisle seven.” She lifted a metal watering can from the box and placed it on a wooden ledge.

“Do you always open this early?” He turned down the aisle and studied the options. Heavy duty would be best.

“No. Must be your lucky day.”

He carried four boxes to the counter. “Where do I buy my lottery ticket?”

Emma abandoned her display. “Pharmacy. But Walter doesn’t get in before nine.”

“So noted.”

He watched her move behind the counter with an easy familiarity. She picked up a tablet, fingers dancing over the screen. Her nails were unpainted and she didn’t wear any jewelry.

It had been a long time since he’d bothered to check for a wedding band. He’d cut ties with their friends in Boston, had never made an effort to meet people in New York.

“You’re here early.” Her smile made him forget the early hour and the work waiting for him.

He scratched behind his left ear absently. “I made the mistake of telling Belle I’d open the flower shop. Didn’t realize it was so early.”

Emma placed the boxes into a paper bag. “I didn’t know you were a florist.”  
  
“I’m not. Trying to help the shop.”

Her expression turned serious. “Is everything okay?”

He hesitated, not sure how much Belle had told anyone. His stomach growled.

Emma considered him, seeing more than he would have preferred. “Okay.” She tapped one finger over the screen and told him the final cost.

He reached into his pocket for his wallet. It felt strange not to hand over his credit card.

She handed him the change. “Do you know Billy?”

The name didn’t sound familiar. “Don’t think so. Why?”

“His dad owns the towing company. If you’re doing a big cleanout you should see if they can bring over a dumpster.”

“I’ll stick with the bags.” He’d never worked in retail, had no experience with running a business, but he only cared about the wedding order. Everything else would have to wait.

//////

Killian left the flower shop and set off in direction of Belle’s apartment. It was late but the letter was a lead weight in his pocket. He’d read it twice, bent over Maurice’s cluttered desk, squinting in the low light, before the words sunk in.

He was exhausted from unpacking boxes and had learned more about Will than he ever wanted to know. The younger man hadn’t stopped talking from the moment he walked into the shop until they left for the day. Killian knew about Will’s younger sister, the girlfriend he’d followed to the States and their subsequent breakup, and the way he’d met Belle. In the span of six hours Killian knew more Will Scarlet than he knew about Liam’s wife.

Killian waited to call Belle until he’d turned onto her street.

She answered on the second ring, sounding bewildered but still awake. “Killian? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he replied, stopping in front of her door. “I’m outside. Can you let me in?”

“Sure.” Belle ended the call abruptly.

The door swung open, light spilling out onto the sidewalk. Belle was wearing a cardigan and printed blouse with gray shorts. Killian took in her outfit but didn’t comment.

She stepped aside to let him pass. “What’s wrong?”

“We need to talk.” He followed her down the hall and into her apartment. The living room walls had been overtaken by heavy floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.

“Sit.” Belle sat down on the sofa, pushing a pillow aside, tucking her legs beneath her body.

Killian couldn’t sit. He paced over the carpet, moving from one bookshelf to another. “Why do you owe Cora Mills eight thousand dollars?”

Belle’s mouth dropped open and she sprung off the sofa. “What?”

He should stop but he couldn’t bring himself to leave the subject alone. “I found this.” He yanked the letter out of his pocket and tossed it onto the coffee table.

He should tell her that he hadn’t been snooping. He’d been looking for a printout that Will swore the bride had dropped off, digging beneath piles of paper when he’d uncovered the envelope. Maybe he should have left it alone. Maybe he should have told Will to find the damn paper. Maybe he never should have agreed to this ridiculous idea in the first place.

Belle stared at the cream envelope, creased from being stuffed in Killian’s pocket. She closed her eyes with a grimace.

"It’s nothing,” she said weakly.

“The hell it is!” His temper flared. “What the hell happened? And why are you keeping everything a secret?” Killian seized the envelope from the table, waving it like a banner. “This isn’t nothing Belle.”

Belle crossed her arms. “You need to go.”

“What?” Killian looked askance.

“Go home Killian.” Belle’s expression hardened. “I can take care of this.”

“Looks like the exact opposite from where I’m standing,” he retorted.

Belle went pale but he didn’t wait to hear whatever else she was going to say. He could feel the anger coursing though his body, narrowing his vision and loosening his tongue. Killian let himself out of the apartment without a backward glance.

/////

Harsh pounding jarred him from sleep and Killian stumbled to the front door. He unlocked the heavy wooden door and stared through the screen.

Belle stood on the porch, arms crossed over her chest. “Good, you’re here.”

He leaned against the doorframe, squinting against the bright light. She was the last person he expected to see. “What are you doing here?”

“You weren’t answering your phone.”

He’d disconnected the landline after a telemarketer had called early one morning.

“Not what I asked.” Killian stepped out of the doorway. Belle followed him into the house. Her heels clicked against the flooring.

He sat down on the staircase, arms resting on his thighs, waiting for Belle to answer.

She looked around the foyer. “You’re making progress.”

Killian shrugged; her assessment was overly generous. The first floor looked much like it had when they closed on the house: outdated wallpaper, floors in need of refinishing, sheets covering the furniture the previous owners hadn’t wanted to bring with them.

The house was a reminder of a different life; he’d been ruthless, making risky and complicated trades, gambling on luck and fate until everything vanished like sand beneath his feet.

He tried to remember the good memories – the way her hair looked silhouetted against the kitchen windows or the sketches she’d tacked to every wall – but every room was another reminder of what he’d lost.

Belle leaned against the doorframe separating living room and foyer. “I’m sorry about yesterday.”

“Don’t be.” He shrugged. “You were right. It’s none of my business.”

Belle stared over his shoulder at the staircase.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” The question escaped before he could censor himself. Exhaustion made him petulant.

“Damn you Killian,” she retorted. “You haven’t been here in almost four years and now you want me to tell you everything? Fine.” Belle crossed her arms defiantly. “My father borrowed money from Cora Mills. More money than the shop brings in. More money than I can afford to pay her.” Her lips tightened. “Do you feel better now that you know?”

Killian deflated. “Shit. Belle I’m sorry.”

She stuffed both hands in her coat pockets. “You don’t have any coffee do you?”

“Instant,” he replied. They moved like zombies to the kitchen, stepping around the piles of boxes and tools that littered the hallway and dining room. Killian went for the electric kettle. The canister of coffee sat beside it on the counter. He’d barely spent any time in the kitchen, concentrating his efforts on the second floor.

Belle opened two cabinets before she found two mugs. He’d brought a duffel bag from New York. It was easier to travel without extra possessions; he’d taken downsizing to the extreme.

When the water boiled, Killian spooned grounds into both mugs. “I don’t suppose you have sugar?” Belle asked and Killian shook his head. He’d gone to the grocery store once. Perishable goods weren’t high on his list of priorities.

“Fresh out,” he replied. His refrigerator, an ancient model older than him, was nearly empty.

She accepted the coffee with a wane smile. His makeshift kitchen table was a long dresser with two stools side-by-side. Belle settled herself on the left stool, coffee balanced on her knee.

“What happened?” He stared at the weak brown liquid in his mug, not sure what else to say.

She wrapped her hands around the mug. “Dad fell last winter. Broke his ankle, dislocated his hip. He had to close the shop for a while. Will tried to help him but you know what he was like.”

He nodded. Belle’s right hand went to her necklace, worrying the charm back and forth over the chain. “There were a lot of bills. I guess he thought he’d be able to catch up.”

Killian opened his mouth but Belle didn’t let him interrupt. “Don’t look at me like that. This is why I didn’t tell you.” She exhaled loudly. “I’m not some damsel in distress. I can handle this.”

He crossed the kitchen and sat down next to Belle. If the situation was reversed and Killian was faced with Liam’s wife, he would have done the same thing. His coffee, if he could call it coffee, tasted foul. “What are you going to do?”

“I should just sell the store. Cut our losses.” Her voice trailed off.

"Is that what you want?”

She scowled. “I think we’re past wanting.”

It wasn’t fair to burden Belle with his shortcomings but he couldn’t stop himself. “I got fired. Downsized, officially. Doesn’t matter. I’m still out of a job.” The admission seemed to echo in the kitchen.

“Oh. Killian.” Belle put her mug down and reached for his hand. “I’m sorry.”

He abandoned his coffee. “Don’t be. It was crap anyway.”

As he expected Belle had immediately shifted the focus to him and his problems. Selfishly part of him knew that was why he’d told her the truth. But she deserved more.

This time she didn’t pull away when he took her hand. “What if I stayed on a while? See if we can’t right the ship?”

Belle frowned. “No. I’m not going to let you do this because you feel guilty.” She ducked out of his grasp and stood up. “I’ll figure this out.”

  
It was a lost cause. He should pay attention to his house, rather than meddle in Belle’s life. Milah would have sold the business without sentiment or regret. Liam would draft three-month, six-month and one year plans.

  
Belle moved across the kitchen and stared out the double windows over the sink.

“Too bad.” He stood beside Belle. “Now when do we start?”

She glanced sideways. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Yes I do.”

  
/////

The bell over the shop door had to go. Two days of listening to the harsh jangle had left him ready to pitch it into the ocean. Killian looked up from the stems he was tying together – struggling to keep the wire from falling to the floor.

A well-dressed woman came into the shop, her long black coat swirling around her calves.

“Can I help you?”

Red lips split into a predatory smile. “I believe so. I’m looking for Miss French.”

Killian abandoned the wire and came around the table. “Did you try the library?”

“I’m afraid it’s flower business, not books.” Her teeth were incredibly white, even in the dim light.

“I can take a message.” He crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for her to confirm his suspicions.

“That’s not necessary Mister…?”

“Jones,” he offered. “Killian Jones.”

One eyebrow quirked, whether in recognition or distain but he didn’t rise to the bait. “Her new apprentice?” She pulled a white business card from her purse, extending it to Killian with two fingers, hand turned so he could take in the full effect of her rings. The gemstones looked dull beneath the lights. “Cora Mills.”

His hands were covered in dirt and newsprint. He held the card firmly, thumb pressed down over the embossed letters “I’ve heard about you.” He’d expected someone different – older or taller – but her eyes reminded him of a viper.

Her expression was smug. “Of course you have. Tell Miss French her payment is due on Thursday. No exceptions.”

She turned on her high heels, the edges of her coat swirling around her like a cape. “I admire your commitment Mister Jones. But I think we both agree that this shop needs more than you can offer.” She didn’t wait for his answer.

Killian waited an hour before he locked up and went straight for the library. The rain was falling steadily and his coat was soaked before he crossed the street.

He ducked beneath the library’s awning and pushed open the front door. Inside, the linoleum floor was dry but a large bucket held a mismatched collection of umbrellas. The circulation desk was empty.

Killian was going to go behind the counter when he saw a young boy balancing on a short ladder, straining to reach a high shelf. Killian had never been much of a reader but he recognized stubborn determination. "Need a hand?” he asked, already on his way over.

The lad looked over - even with the ladder he barely reached Killian’s shoulder - and nodded. “I need 873 WlN,” he said. “Please.”

Killian squinted at the peeling call numbers.

“It’s up there,” the boy said, pointing at the tallest shelf.

“Ah of course.” He reached it easily, a dusty green volume that seemed too advanced for the boy waiting to receive it. Killian glanced at the cover but it was blank.

“Is this for school?” He handed the book over with a dubious expression.

The boy scoffed. “No way. I’m ten.”

Killian didn’t bother to suppress his chuckle. “Alright. Then what’s it for?”

The lad drew himself up taller. “My teacher said there are Apatosaurus skeletons in here.”

Killian had no idea what the boy was talking about. Some kind of animal? Before he could ask, Emma came barreling around the corner, nearly slamming into Killian.

“Henry did you find –?” She trailed off.

“Hello,” he said, looking at her askance. She seemed to be everywhere - sitting at Granny’s counter during lunch, walking down the sidewalk and now the library.

“Hi.” She smiled quickly and turned her attention to the boy. “Is that your book?”

He nodded, clutching it to his chest. “He reached it.”

Emma’s smile was indulgent. “I see that.” She gestured over her shoulder. “How about you get the other ones so Belle can check them out?”

“Okay.” Henry’s tone matched hers perfectly and Killian suppressed a laugh.

He watched Henry take off through the stacks, his book under one arm. “What’s an Apatosaurus?”

Emma smiled. “Some kind of dinosaur.”

“Ah.” He didn’t know what else to say. He and Liam had been obsessed with boats and pirates.

“I’m just glad Belle keeps a list of books for him. The library’s been his favorite place since he could talk.”

“Good for him.” Liam kept dozens of books around his flat, shelves creaking beneath the weight. Killian had sold his record collection when he left the city. The digital versions were poor substitutes but considerably easier to transport.

He scratched behind his ear. “I didn’t know you had a son.”

“You didn’t ask,” she answered with a half-smile. “He’s a great kid.” They watched Henry carry the stack of books to the counter. He lifted them up carefully.

Emma stepped back. “I should go.”

“I’m sure I’ll see you around.” Killian waited until they left the library before he approached the circulation desk.

“I didn’t know you knew Emma.” Belle leaned over the desk.

“Been something of a regular at her store,” he admitted.

Belle reached for the pile of boxes sitting next to the keyboard, scanning the barcode and moving it to the opposite side of the counter. “She’s single in case you were wondering.”

He let out a low groan. “I wasn’t.”

Fortunately Belle didn’t press. If she knew he was lying, she let him keep the secret.


	4. Chapter 4

“Hey Emma.” Little John pushed open the front door with a smile. “I got your message.” 

“Yeah Andy brought the box over right after lunch.” Little John’s bicycle repair business was run almost exclusively from the back of his van. She didn’t mind being his mailing address for deliveries. "It's in the back. Do you want a hand?” 

“No, I’m okay. Thanks for signing for it.” 

“It was pretty big,” she commented. Usually the boxes were small – gears and chains and an occasional wheel. “What is it?”

“New seat for the Wicked Witch herself.” 

Emma tried to stifle a laugh. She didn’t know how Zelena Mills had come by the nickname – but no one else in Storybrooke rode their bicycle while wearing a cape. Cora’s eldest daughter seemed to have a flair for the dramatic.

"If only we could pick our customers.” She spread her hands over her notepad. 

He chuckled. "I hear you." Little John knew his way around the store as well as Emma. But he seemed to be in no hurry, leaning against the counter. “Did Belle sell the flower shop?”

“No I don’t think so.” Emma frowned, pushing aside the catalogs she’d been studying. “I think they’re sorting through Maurice’s stuff.”

Little John nodded. “That’s rough. I remember when we had to clean out my dad’s office. It felt like any minute he was going to come up the stairs and tell me and Anton to stop messing with his papers.” 

“How’s Anton doing?” Emma rarely saw Little John’s brother during the colder months.

“Good. He’s already talking about the corn maze.” He chuckled. “You know Anton, always two seasons ahead of everyone else.”

Emma tried to smile but she hated the corn maze, it felt too much like being trapped. Henry could go through every day and not tire of it. At least he was getting old enough that she could meet him on the other side and not have to navigate it herself. Her phone buzzed below the counter.

Little John straightened up. “I’ll get my stuff.”

The text was from Elsa: “Trapped in thank you note hell. Not sure if Anna is planning military invasion or making address labels. Help.”

Before she could reply, the front door slammed open. Killian was on his second trip of the day. “Do you have any door knobs? And those huge garbage bags?”

“Bags are in seven. Like they were yesterday,” Emma answered, leaning over her phone. 

She tapped out a quick reply to Elsa: “Want me to place an emergency fifteen gallon order?” 

Elsa’s answer came in all caps. “NO WAY.” 

Killian was pacing in front of the counter. “Swan.” His voice was close to a whine and she couldn’t suppress a smile. 

“I told you to call Billy. Get a dumpster and stop tossing all those bags in your truck.” 

He grimaced. “The door knobs. Where are they?” 

“Five,” she answered. “What happened now?”

“Bloody Will Scarlet,” he answered over his shoulder.

Her phone buzzed again. Emma read Elsa’s message: “You don’t need a thank you note, right?” 

She sent back a negative; Emma had picked the first gift on Anna’s registry that qualified for free shipping. Emma pocketed her phone, not bothering to wait for Elsa’s answer. Maybe she’d head over to the ice cream shop after she picked up Henry at the bus. She hadn’t seen Anna since the wedding.

Killian dropped a plastic package on the counter. “You’re out of bags.” His eyebrows were nearly at his hairline. 

“You’re panicking,” she observed. 

“Am not.” She might have believed him if he would stop pacing or scratching behind his left ear. 

Emma shook her head. “Let me check in the back. If I find any, I’ll bring them over.”

“Alright.” He held up the doorknob. “How much?”

“It’s on your tab,” she replied. “Now get out here and try not to break anything else.” 

The store phone began to ring and Emma waved Killian out the door with her free hand. “Go,” she mouthed, clicking the receiver. 

“Jefferson? What’s up?” She leaned forward, one elbow on the counter. “Okay. Farm sink. Got it. What else?” Her pencil moved quickly over the yellow pad.

 

////

Emma was sitting on a bench when Henry’s bus pulled up to the curb. He practically flew down the three steps. “Hey Mom.” 

“Hey kid.” She gestured at the coat in his arms. “Are you a polar bear?”

“It’s not that cold,” Henry protested. 

“Alright,” Emma answered. She was always cold, piling on layers for eight months of the years. “How was school?”

Henry told Emma about his history test and his new science unit as they walked down the street. Emma stopped in front of the ice cream shop. “What do you think?”

His eyes lit up. “Really?”

Emma nodded. If they ate it now, Henry could use the sugar rush to (hopefully) power through some of his homework.

The shop was empty. Anna came out from the back at the sound of the door chime. 

Henry went right for the cases, pacing back and forth to read the labels. 

“Hey guys,” Anna said. 

“Welcome back,” Emma said, taking in Anna’s sunburned nose. “How was Colorado?

Anna’s face brightened into a wide smile. “Amazing. I don’t think I’ve skied that much in my whole life. The weather was incredible. It was like magic, you know?” Anna looked expectantly across the counter. 

She struggled to smile. The closest Emma had gotten to marriage was a secondhand engagement ring that Neal had given her before Henry was born. She'd pawned it after they split. There was no room for magic in her life. 

“Mom can I get two scoops?” Henry looked up from the case with a pleading expression. 

Emma shook her head. “Just one. It’s a school night.” 

“Are you all set?” Anna asked Henry. He nodded, pointing to a bright green ice cream. “Can I have that one?”

“Turtle wax?” Anna retrieved a metal scoop from a bin. “Excellent choice. Cup or cone?”

“Cup,” Henry replied, hastily adding “please” when Emma glanced over. She nodded approvingly. 

“What about you Emma?” Anna handed Henry his cup. 

“Cherry vanilla.” 

After she paid, Emma sat down at the counter looking out at the street. “How’s the ice cream?” 

“Awesome.” Henry dug in with gusto and Emma smiled. 

“Good.” She took a small bite out of her own scoop. “Some other me?”

“Definitely,” Henry answered around a mouthful of ice cream. 

Emma considered her first choice. It was one of Henry’s favorite games, the kind she’d invented to keep him occupied in the hardware store when it was quiet. “Maybe there's another me who's a bounty hunter.”

“Or a rockstar,” he countered. 

“Not likely.” Emma took another bite of her ice cream. “What about a superhero?”

Henry concentrated on the dripping mess in his hands. “No way.”

Emma rolled her eyes. Henry's scandalized tone spoke volumes - he used to go into hysterics imagining Emma as one of his favorite comic book heroes. "Fine. What about you?"

"Easy," he answered, "I'm a pirate."

"Aren't you too young?"

Henry considered the question for a beat. "Nah. I'm a stowaway orphan."

Emma's grip tightened on her cone but she kept her tone light. "Like Harry Potter?"

"Not everything is about Harry Potter," Henry informed Emma. Before she could answer he let out a laugh.

Emma relaxed. Maybe not everything, but most things. And she wouldn’t have it any other way.


	5. Chapter 5

"You need to sign." Leroy shoved a clipboard across the counter.  
   
Killian stared at it dumbly. "Sign for what?" He hadn't placed any new orders and the mail had already come through.  
   
"Your table," Leroy growled, not bothering to hide his impatience. "You're right under Walter." He jabbed one finger at the paper.  
   
"Table for what?" His mind was turning rapidly. Belle hadn't mentioned any table.  
   
"For the Sidewalk Sale." Leroy's expression was disgusted. "Can't you read the calendar?"  
   
"Clearly not," Killian retorted sharply.  
   
Leroy crossed his arms over his midsection. "Well then. Today is the first of March." He looked over Killian's shoulder at the wall calendar. It was still on January. "Meadow Day is the first Saturday. Seeing as today's Thursday you need to sign for your table so I can finish the rest of the deliveries. Savvy?"  
   
"Not at all." Killian scribbled his name on the paper, not bothering to read it. He pushed it away with a scowl. "There. Happy?"  
   
Leroy let out a huff and retrieved his clipboard. Killian didn't wait for the door to close before he picked up his phone. When Belle didn't answer at the library, he opened a new message and tapped out a text.  
   
He hadn't planned to use Emma's number; he only had it because he was terrible at remembering to charge his phone. After Killian had missed two appointments with the plumber, Jack had insisted on a secondary contact number. He'd been in the hardware store at the time, pacing the aisle of bug spray and fertilizer, when Emma pressed a scrap of paper into his hand. "Use this," she'd insisted. He'd planned to offer Belle's number but yielded to Emma. When he read the number to Jack, she'd taken it down and immediately told him that he could have just said to call Emma. After he hung up, Emma had told Killian about a pipe that exploded in the Mayor's office four years prior and turned the foyer into a skating rink. Emma had put in a rush order, Jack had done the repair in less time than predicted, and the Mayor's office was only closed for two days.  
   
His fingers struck the wrong keys and he had to fix the autocorrect spellings twice, but managed to get his message out: "What the hell is Meadow Day?"  
   
Emma's response came less than a second later, a photo of the flier that he'd vaguely noticed in every window for the last week.  
   
He stretched the image, trying to read the details, but a second message came through and he released his fingers. Her message was longer than he could have managed in such a short time: "Town-wide sidewalk sale. Set up your table at the crack of dawn, mark stuff down, sell off the excess winter crap."  
   
"Flowers aren't the same as snow shovels," he sent back without thinking.  
   
When she didn't respond immediately, Killian dialed the library again. Belle answered on the fourth ring.  
   
"What time are we setting up on Saturday?" He asked without preamble.  
   
"Killian?" Belle sounded distracted.  
   
"Who else calls you?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Leroy was just in here making me sign for a table. What's going on it? And did we order anything extra?" He inhaled, listening to the noise on the other end of the line. "Are you still there?"  
   
"Yeah," she answered after a considerable pause. "Look midterms are next week and I've got five study groups here. I talked to Will yesterday. He can fill you in." There was a muffled thump and Belle returned. "I have to call you back, okay?"  
   
"Aye." He ended the call and three new messages popped up on his screen.  
   
Emma's last message caught his attention: "Do you need hooks for the banner?"  
   
He wanted answers, preferably before someone asked him where the horse-drawn carriage should park. Killian tapped the icon next to Emma's name.  
   
She answered on the first ring. "You forgot," Emma accused.  
   
"Why do I need hooks?" He walked toward the front window. Leroy was standing in the middle of the sidewalk, gesturing at the clocktower with his clipboard.  
   
"For the banner," Emma replied patiently. "The one Belle's been working on all week?"  
   
Recognition dawned slowly. He vaguely remembered Belle mentioning paper flowers and twine. "Right. The banner."  
   
"You forgot," she repeated knowingly.  
   
He swore loudly and she chuckled. The sound took Killian away from the persistent smell of stale dirt.  
   
"I'll be over in two minutes."  
   
He disconnected the call, pacing back and forth. When Emma opened the door, he was standing in front of the shelves holding dusty vases. Perhaps he should have Will hose down the lot. Maybe it would brighten the place up.  
   
"How did you miss the signs? There's one on your window." She gestured at the right corner of the window and he noticed a large sheet of paper.  
   
"Does it matter? I thought it wasn't important."  
   
Her smile widened. Clearly she was enjoying his predicament. "Everything in this town is important, or haven't you been paying attention?"  
   
He shook his head and raised both hands. "Fine, I give. Help."  
   
Emma rocked back on her heels. She glanced around the store. "Talk to Belle but her dad used to put out big plastic buckets of flowers. It's kind of silly but people like traditions, you know?"  
   
He nodded. It was one of the reasons he'd agreed to the move. There had been something appealing about living in a town without a stoplight. "Any other advice?"  
   
"Stay away from pets. One year the animal shelter tried an adoption booth. It ended in tears." She shuddered. "Elsa took home three cats. Don't ask," she cautioned before Killian could say anything. "Umm maybe a raffle? Belle said you guys were thinking of renaming the store."  
   
Killian nodded. They'd passed the idea back and forth, but hadn't come to a conclusion. "You want me to take suggestions?"  
   
"No that's boring. Forget it." She frowned, eyes flickering around the shop. "What about a free bouquet? Something fancy?"  
   
Killian snorted. "The idea's to make money, right?"  
   
Emma scowled and leaned against the counter. "I'm serious. Make something for the table and let people enter to win."  
   
"And I suppose you have suggestions about that?" He was already out of his depth; most of his efforts were poorly executed attempts to recreate pictures he'd printed out. So far no one had complained but the only other place to buy flowers was the pharmacy. And Walter only kept three bouquets of red roses at a time, claiming that any more would make him sneeze uncontrollably.  
   
"Yeah. Yellow. People want to see something bright."  
   
"Not orange?" He would have preferred dark colors but didn't want to sink the business further into the ground.  
   
Emma grimaced, nose crinkling. "No way. Unless it's Halloween, I avoid orange."  
   
"But yellow's alright?"  
   
She nodded. "If you need help on Saturday, I can send Henry over. My table's a lot of mismatched stuff left over from the winter."  
   
"Don't you need help?"  
   
Emma shook her head. "Robin's bringing his son. Nothing encourages a sale like a toddler in a puffy coat and hat making the big eyes. I'm staying inside."  
   
Killian nodded. "I'll talk to Belle but perhaps I'll take you up on that offer."  
   
Emma stuck both hands in the pockets of her vest. "Good. I put the hooks behind the counter, just in case."  
   
////  
   
"So who won?"  
   
Killian stretched both arms wide. He hadn't seen Emma since Saturday morning. Will had pulled the winning tag four days ago; Killian struggled to remember the woman's name. "Something with an A. Blonde. Bangs." He waved his hand over his forehead and Emma smirked.  
   
"Did she have a little girl?"  
   
He remembered a wagon. "Maybe."  
   
"Sounds like Ashley. All that pink was probably like a siren for her."  
   
He hadn't passed on her color suggestion, telling Will to make something big and cheap on short notice. The final arrangement had been taller and brighter than Killian had expected, but it had brought a steady flow of people to his table.  
   
Killian's neck ached from leaning over glass vase. He considered the arrangement on the table; it was smaller than the photograph in the book but looked reasonably similar. Mother Superior had tagged several pages for his consideration and he wasn't keen to get on her bad side.  
   
Emma came around the prep table and studied his handiwork. "You’ve been busy."  
   
He didn’t answer. The arrangement didn’t look right. Maybe more purple would help. He picked up a stem and added it to the vase.  
   
"Too dark," Emma said, pulling it out. She inserted some of the white bell-shaped flowers instead. "This one's pretty."  
   
Killian looked around the table, searching for the list from their supplier so he could tell her the flower’s name. He shifted the brown paper but didn't see any sort of inventory. Giving up, he looked back at Emma. "Did you come over here to tell me how to arrange flowers? Because I think you know less about this than I do."  
   
Her smile made the corners of her eyes crinkle. “Yeah. You’re right. I need something for my counter.”  
   
"You don't strike me as the carnation and balloon type." Belle had agreed that balloons might be a nice touch, an idea that came from a woman pushing two children in a stroller that reminded Killian of a small luggage cart. It was on his list of things to research when he found time.  
   
Her grin turned wicked. "I'm more the whiskey and onion rings type. But I want people thinking about gardening and planting. I just got an order of watering cans and shovels in."  
   
Killian chuckled. He already knew what to give her - one of the white orchids would be perfect. “I have a few ideas.”  
   
For a moment he forgot his tired limbs and cold coffee at his elbow. “You don't have any experience with hardwood floors, do you?”   
She raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by the abrupt turn of the conversation. “You’re going to rip up this tile?” The tone of her voice told him exactly what she thought about that particular course of action.  
   
“No.” He struggled to explain. “My house. There used to be carpet on the second floor. I’ve got boxes of flooring. They’re supposed to snap together?” He grimaced. “I think.” It had been so long since he’d paid attention to the details.  
   
Emma nodded. “That could be right. There are different kinds of hardwood. You’re doing it yourself?”  
   
He hesitated, the answer more complicated than he’d realized. “Yes.”  
   
“Do you have any idea what you’re doing?” The question was quiet, not the harsh judgement he’d been expecting.  
   
“No. I was the muscle.” He’d meant it to sound self-deprecating; the words came out bitter. Admitting he was out of his depth was harder than he’d expected. But he didn’t know where to start. Not that Milah was an expert carpenter, but she’d spent years doing set design for community theatre productions.  
   
Her mouth tightened. Killian wanted to press against the scar tissue; he’d been weighed down by ghosts for too long.  
   
“When did you buy the flooring?”  
   
“Few years ago.” He was being rude, tone harsher than necessary.  
   
She crossed her arms over her chest, head tilted left. “If it’s been stored inside, you should be fine. Make sure there’s no water damage or warping. You’d be able to tell pretty quickly.”  
   
His head throbbed. He needed fresh air. “You have a lot of experience with flooring?”  
   
“Helped out a few times. And I watch a lot of youtube videos,” she replied with a smile. “Here.” She reached for his pencil. “Robin used to work in construction. If you get stuck, give him a call.”  
   
Killian stared at the numbers. “Appreciate it.”  
   
Emma gestured at the doorknob. “I thought this was an emergency." She raised one eyebrow.  
   
"I'll get to it later." He’d meant to install it, had been staring at the packaging for longer than he cared to admit, but the door opened and closed fine without the knob.  
   
Emma looked at the clock over the front door. "Robin should be in at one. How about I come over and give you a hand?"  
   
“You don’t have to do that.” His protest was weak.  
   
“I know. Call it a trade.”  
   
Killian relented. “Fine. You might want to bring your own tools though.”  
   
She raised an eyebrow. “Don’t worry Jones, I’ve got you covered.”  
   
///////  
   
Emma’s phone let out an ominous ring tone, cross between a horror movie montage and a march. Emma scowled, silencing it with one hand.  
   
Before he could comment, the ringing began anew. Emma snatched the phone from the counter without bothering to check the screen. She offered a tight smile. "Hang on. I should probably..."  
   
"Course."  
   
She turned away, weaving past the rows of boxes he'd carted from Maurice’s office. Her voice was slightly muffled. "What's up?" The words sounded forced and Killian wondered who was on the other end.  
   
He could hear her pacing back and forth in the narrow space in front of the greenhouse. "No." Her voice rose sharply on the word. "That's not how this works." More shuffling.  
   
He'd never known Emma to pace before, hadn't thought she had an excess of nervous energy that couldn’t be contained. As a lad Liam had frequently chided Killian for being a live wire, always tapping his foot to a beat or shifting restlessly. Running had helped; he'd channeled some of the untapped energy. Looking back, Killian didn’t know he had been trying to escape or capture something.  
   
"What do you mean you're here?" She'd dropped her voice but it was too quiet.  
   
He wasn't above eavesdropping but Emma's conversation felt too personal. The ancient cd player had been plugged in behind Maurice's desk but Killian had moved it to the front. He didn't plan on spending any more time than necessary back there. The office was wasted space, much like the enormous garage (empty except for the delivery van and discarded wooden pallets).  
   
The disc was scratched but still played. It wasn't his taste - too much twang - but it chased away the silence.  
   
He stared at the piles of paper: orders and receipts and inventory logs covered in Maurice's cramped scribble. Will thought they should scrap the lot but Killian had deterred: there could be a winning lottery ticket somewhere in the jumble or a notice about a life insurance policy Belle hadn't known about.  
   
He was so focused that he didn't hear Emma's footsteps approach the counter.  
   
"Look, I have to go."  
   
Killian looked up. "Is everything all right?" He could tell by the tight set of her shoulders and the white knuckle grip on her cellphone that the question wasn't necessary.  
   
She swallowed, clearly trying to maintain an appearance of calm. "I need to take care of something."  
   
"Emma." He came around the counter but stopped short of touching her arm. "Is Henry alright?”  
   
Her expression cleared and she shook her head, ponytail swaying back and forth. "Yeah. Nothing like that." The way her mouth twisted into a sharp scowl told Killian more than he wanted to know. He stepped back and she grabbed her coat from the counter.  
   
The door closed with a sharp bang. Killian knew he should return to the piles of receipts but his curiosity was too strong. From the side window he could see the street. Emma's ponytail was like a beacon, catching his attention. She was almost out of view but had stopped in front of a motorcycle and was talking to its rider. Killian watched as he pulled off his helmet and stepped off the bike, one arm extended in Emma's direction. She backed away, arms crossed over her unzipped coat.  
   
He came closer, blocking Killian's view of Emma. Killian shifted his angle, practically pressing his face against the glass. Emma lifted her hand - for an instant Killian thought she'd spotted him, but she was pushing hair away from her cheek.  
   
The phone began to ring and reluctantly Killian turned away from the window. He yanked the cordless handset out of its base. "Thorns and Roses," he growled into the receiver, hating the shop name more and more with each passing day.  
   
The man on the other end was rambling about carnations. Killian looked around but couldn't find a pencil. "Hold on." He held the phone over his shoulder, searching for anything: pen, marker, crayon. Then he remembered Emma had been marking the doorframe.  
   
He retrieved her pencil. "Alright you want ten carnations? Twenty, got it." Killian balanced the phone between cheek and shoulder. "All pink. Got it." He stared blankly across the shop, eyes setting on the display stand of cards. "And the card?"  
   
The man on the other end paused, giving Killian a chance to grab a second takeaway menu. He'd run out of space on the first. "Happy Anniversary Aurora. Right got it. And you said Wednesday? We'll have it ready."  
   
Killian hung up the phone. Emma had left her toolbox open on the floor. He considered leaving it but knowing Will he'd trip over something and make more of a mess.  
  



	6. Chapter 6

They had arrived earlier than planned; Emma usually met Henry at the bus stop. She'd called his teacher from the car, asked her not to put Henry on the bus. Her eyes flickered in the direction of the doors, but the playground was empty.

Emma felt like the walls of her car were closing in but Neal didn’t seem to notice. He stared through the rain-speckled windshield.

"How's he doing?"

"Good. Really." She twisted in the seat, hip trapped by the seatbelt. "Lots of As and Bs on his report card."

"That's all you." Neal let out a humorless laugh.

"No." She shook her head. "Don't do that." The words sounded unconvincing, even to her ears. She hadn’t talked to Neal since January and the effort not to pepper him with questions was overwhelming.

The corners of his eyes crinkled. He looked tired. "Come on Em, I'm not really dad of the year."

She rolled her eyes. "Like that matters." Emma rubbed her hands together. The air was damp but she didn’t want to waste gas by running the engine.

Neal stared out the windshield. "I can go."

"Don't. Henry will want to see you." She preempted whatever he was going to say, asking about work. Emma didn't really understand what he did, something in a distribution center, but it was a real job at a reputable company. If she was a different person, Emma might have asked him to stay.

“Okay. I’m on second shift so it’s pretty normal hours. Nice change, you know?”

Emma nodded. She should have brought gloves. Neal looked ready to say something but the double doors swung open and kids spilled over the steps.

“Come on. We’re up,” she told Neal, unbuckling her seatbelt.

They got out of the car, doors slamming in unison. Henry crested the steps and, catching sight of Emma’s car, made a beeline in their direction. “Dad!”

Neal wrapped Henry in a hug. Emma stepped back. Henry looked over at Emma from his place at Neal’s side. “Did you know Dad was coming?”

She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek. Truth or lie would hurt Henry. She deflected. “Are you surprised?”

“Totally,” he answered, his entire face alight.

Emma tucked her hair behind one ear. “How about I take your stuff home and you hang out with your dad for a few hours?” Emma suggested. “Maybe get some dinner?”

“Really?” Henry looked from Emma to Neal.

She nodded, reaching out her hand for his backpack. “Tomorrow's Friday. Can you finish your homework if you go?"

“Yeah,” Henry replied. He shrugged off the backpack.

Emma staggered under the unexpected weight. “What do you have in here?"

He reached over and unzipped it, pulling four large books out for her inspection.

"I didn't think the library had this many books about dinosaurs?"

Neal leaned against her car, watching the exchange.

“Not dinosaurs Mom. Space. We're building rockets for our end of year project."

"Rockets," she repeated. “Alright.” The rain had tapered off to a light drizzle. She

looked at Neal. “Have him back by seven?”

“Sure.” When Neal smiled, Emma could see glimpses of the man she’d loved once.

“I’ll see you later, okay?” Emma asked Henry.

"Bye Mom,” he said, waving over his shoulder.

Emma watched Henry and Neal head toward the playground equipment. She swallowed hard over the lump in her throat.

//////

Emma was midway through her dinner when Killian sat down on the adjacent stool. She concentrating on chewing and swallowing. She'd practically run out of his store when Neal called.

"No Henry?"

Emma shook her head. "He's having dinner with his dad." She took a sip of her water. Really she'd prefer something stronger but tonight was the wrong night. Anger flared. It was just like Neal to show up without calling first, not bothering to ask if Henry had a test to study for or a project to finish. If Neal was free, he assumed the rest of the world would be as well.

Killian's eyebrows jumped simultaneously but his voice was level. "I didn't realize his father lived nearby."

"He doesn't. But he's here for the weekend." It should have felt natural to say, but the words turned to sand in her mouth. Neal should have called first, given her some advance notice, but that wasn’t his style. Once she'd found his impulsiveness endearing.

Fortunately Henry's history test had been on Tuesday. He could muddle through one day of school. She'd asked Neal about plans and he'd made vague mentions of leaving Sunday. Emma didn't ask where he was staying - Granny's was out of the question and Emma wasn't going to offer her sofa.

Killian ordered buffalo wings and a beer. They sat in silence for several minutes; Emma worked her way through her macaroni and cheese.

She wished that the smile on Neal’s face didn’t make her wary, that she wasn’t already thinking of the myriad of ways he could shatter Henry’s expectations, but she was too used to waiting for the other shoe to drop. He tried, she could honestly say that, but even Neal’s best left much to be desired.

Killian set down his beer glass, light ale sloshing against the edges.

"My father left when I was eight and my brother was thirteen. Got married, had a completely new family within two years."

Her hands were shaking; she didn't talk much about what led her to Storybrooke. Emma preferred to focus on today and tomorrow. Looking back never did much good.

His smile was sad and Emma wished she didn't see through his defenses so easily. "Your lad's lucky to have you."

It was nearly the same thing Neal had said outside the school but Killian's words made her hands tremble. She'd never learned to take a compliment well.

“Where’s your brother now?”

“Edinburgh.”

“Do you miss him?”

“All the time,” he replied. “We haven’t lived in the same place since I was sixteen.” Killian’s shoulders tensed beneath his shirt. “Suppose that’s normal.”

“I wouldn’t know.” The admission slipped out before she could censor herself. She didn't know what to say; trading crappy childhood stories wasn't a game she enjoyed winning.

Killian considered her for a long minute. “He’s a lawyer. Wanted me to do the same. I didn’t make the grades to study law. I told Liam…I lied to him. Said I didn’t want to be like him.”

Emma tilted her head to one side. “I’m sure he knows that wasn’t true.”

Killian chuckled. “Aye. About five years ago I got pissed out of my mind and told him. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so angry.”

“What happened?”

“Locked me out of his flat. I had to sleep on the bloody back porch on a metal bench. Scared his wife when she came down to make breakfast.”

Emma laughed, trying to imagine Killian stretched out on a bench in the middle of someone’s backyard.

Killian gestured at the menu board over the counter. “Have you ever tried Granny’s lava cake?”

Emma grinned. “Once or twice.”

“Care to split one?”

She caught her lower lip between her teeth. “No. Get your own.” 

“You drive a hard bargain Swan.”

She raised both eyebrows. “I’m not good at sharing.” She meant for it to sound light even though it was a hard habit to break. She’d spent too long in group homes where she needed to grab as much as she could as quickly as possible.

“Ah.” He offered her a piece of chicken. The tips of his fingers were covered in sauce. “Fortunately I have no such qualms.”

Emma took the wing from his hand. “You might regret it Jones.”

“Let’s find out,” he countered.

“You’re on.” Emma bit into the wing. She hadn’t realized he’d ordered spicy and it made her eyes water.

////

Even though it was her day off, Emma called in her order to Granny's before putting Henry on the bus. The diner was nearly empty but Killian was sitting at the counter, empty stools flanking him. Emma dropped onto the right stool, nearly banging her knee against the counter.

"Swan." He turned to face her, voice too loud for seven thirty on a Thursday morning.

She scowled. Sleep had been elusive last night. Neal had called as they were finishing dinner and even though he'd talked to Henry for less than twenty minutes, Emma felt uneasy. He'd mentioned the summer over a series of text messages; he wanted to stay for a week, maybe two. She couldn't say no - it wasn't fair to Henry or Neal - but selfishly she was in no hurry for things to change. They had a good life, her and Henry, one that she'd cobbled together and held onto the pieces so tightly that loosening her grip seemed impossible.

Killian offered an untouched piece of bacon and she reached over appreciatively. She eyed his coffee but looked away quickly, not ready to cross that boundary. Ashley came over, bangs falling into her eyes and looking frazzled.

"Your order's not ready yet," she apologized, pouring Emma a cup of coffee. "Lou's sick so it's just Tom in the back."

Emma wrapped one hand around her mug. "That's alright." She could still taste the salty bacon on her tongue. The coffee was strong but not overbearing - no one knew what Granny's secret was but it was almost impossible to duplicate. Mary Margaret had tried for the better part of a month, testing cup after cup on Emma and David. Ruby had claimed that she was cutting back on caffeine after a particularly foul blend of hazelnut and french vanilla.

Killian's fork scraped against the plate. Emma glanced over. "You're here early," she observes, feeling marginally more human after two gulps of coffee. "What's going on?"

"I've got a potential buyer."

"For the store?"

He shook his head. "My house."

"Oh." She knew there were things in his life that she wasn't privy to knowing and vice versa, but the reminder stung.

"I didn't realize you wanted to sell it." She didn't mean for the observation to come out so sharply but he didn't seem to notice. It hurt to think about Killian leaving, but she tried to focus.

"It's not mine to keep."

He scowled, good mood suddenly gone. Emma took a sip from her mug. She knew what it felt like to spend so much time focusing on survival that everything else became irrelevant. Maybe it would be better if he sold the house and started fresh somewhere else. She'd done the same thing with Henry.

Emma wiped up a drip of coffee with her finger. "Back up. Start at the beginning."

"This woman came into the store the other day. Said she wanted to talk about my house."

Emma frowned. She was used to coincidences - and news had a way of traveling like wildfire through their small town - but it felt too easy. Killian wanted to sell and someone showed up unannounced? She shook her head; maybe she was becoming cynical, an allegation Elsa had launched at her countless times but one she'd always been able to brush aside. "Who was it?"

He scowled. "Gwen something."

"Gwen Stone," she supplied. Emma knew the name, and the woman. Gwen and her husband used to be summer people, renting a house that overlooked the harbor. They'd been renting the same house year-round for the better part of two years. Emma hadn't realized that they were planning to move permanently.

Killian nodded. "Sounds right. She wants to look at the place properly. We settled on later today." He took a sip of coffee. "You should come by."

Emma raised both eyebrows. "You want me to keep you company?" She didn't try to keep the sarcasm from her voice.

He chuckled. "Why not?"

"Hey Emma. Sorry about the wait." Ashley placed a paper bag onto the counter. "You're all set." She glanced at Emma's empty coffee cup. "You want another cup to go?"

Emma nodded. "Definitely." She looked over at Killian. "I'll have to take a rain check. I've got plans with Ruby."

"Alright. Another day." He grinned. "Enjoy your breakfast."

She paid Ashley and practically bolted from the diner, clutching her coffee tightly. Emma walked quickly until she got to the benches overlooking the small harbor. It was her second favorite place in town. The breeze was cold but she didn't care. Emma sat down cross-legged and unpacked her breakfast with trembling hands. She was just tired and hungry, nothing more.


	7. Chapter 7

Belle came through the diner’s front door and dropped her purse onto the counter with a sigh. Killian glanced up at the clock. They'd agreed to meet at one; she was nearly thirty minutes late. “Sorry. I couldn’t get away sooner. This is why Sunday hours are a mistake. No one wants to work and it takes an extra half hour to close up.” She sank down onto the stool. 

“Not in a hurry,” he replied, dipping a french fry into the trail of ketchup. 

“You’re in a good mood,” Belle observed. “What’s the occasion?” 

He looked over with a grin. “Got an offer on the house.” 

“Your house?” Belle looked askance. 

“The very same,” he replied with a chuckle. Killian popped another fry into his mouth.

Belle ordered a sandwich and took a long sip from her iced tea. “Who is it?” 

“Gwen Stone." The meeting with Gwen and her husband had gone well. They'd asked polite questions, complimented the work he'd done, and made a respectable offer. But he wasn't ready to take it. Emma's reaction had surprised him, like a bucket of water dousing the flame he'd been tending. 

Belle poured more sugar into her glass, swirling the straw absently. “I didn’t realize you were ready to sell.” 

He pushed his empty plate away. First Emma now Belle. So far the reactions had been the opposite of what he'd expected. Killian tried not to scowl. Selling the house had been the only constant in his mind for so long that he hadn’t considered anything else. “Doesn’t hurt to talk to her, does it?” 

Belle shook her head. “No. Of course not.” She laced her fingers together. “I guess I need to tell you something too.” 

He turned to face her. Maybe Will had finally summoned the courage to ask her on a date. He'd been asking Killian for days about whether the timing was right or should he wait until the summer. 

“Mr. Gold came to the library yesterday. He offered to buy the store.” 

“Who?” Killian couldn’t place the name but it felt too good to be true. 

“He owns the pawnshop,” Belle replied, “plus a bunch of other places in town.” 

“There’s always a catch,” Killian cautioned. “No one just offers to buy a store.” 

  

Belle's expression darkened. "I know. But it doesn’t matter if you’re leaving.” Her voice was uncharacteristically sharp. “Does it?” 

He swore quietly. “If I sold the house you could pay off Cora.” 

Belle flicked her thumb and index finger against his upper arm. “Stop that. I told you before I don’t need rescuing. If you want to sell your house, fine. But don’t make it about me.” 

He tipped his drink in her direction. “Yes m’am." They still needed to go over the numbers - arguing with Belle would get him nowhere. He didn't have a sense of progress; maybe the shop was doing better or maybe he was hastening its closing. They needed to balance the accounts to know for certain. 

//// 

Killian could barely see the column of numbers on his spreadsheet. He’d been staring at the screen for hours. Half-empty cups of coffee littered the table. 

“How’s it going?” Belle came into the kitchen, carrying her empty plate.  

He untangled his feet from the stool. It had been a long time since he’d sat in front of his laptop for such a long stretch. “Here.” He turned his screen to face Belle.

She leaned over, squinting at the spreadsheet. “Scroll down,” she requested. 

He maneuvered the cursor with one hand. Business was up, not enough to make a real impression but he would be able to pay all the bills. He'd been working on projections for the better part of two hours, trying to cobble together a plan that would keep them afloat and pay down Cora's loan faster.

Belle exhaled through pursed lips. “Killian we can’t bring it that much money every month.” 

“Sure we can,” he replied, feigning confidence. “If I stop mucking around with the house and use that money to renovate the store.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Belle snapped. “I told you. I don’t want you to put any money into the shop.”

Unfazed, he stood up and took a slow lap around her kitchen. “No. You told me not to sell the house and use the money to pay off Cora.” He raised one eyebrow in challenge and Belle sighed heavily.

 “Stop Killian, you can’t do that.”  
  
He couldn’t understand her reluctance. The plan was perfect – the kind Liam would have come up with weeks ago.  “Dammit Belle stop being so stubborn.” Anger made his vision narrow.

“I can’t. This isn't your problem Killian. It's mine."

He stopped in the middle of the floor. "I want to help." He couldn't explain how desperately he needed to be useful.

Belle's eyes filled with tears and she turned away. Killian came around the table and sat back down.  “I know. But you're going to leave. And I’ll be here, wondering why my life is such a mess. And you won’t be here for me to ask.”

Killian rested his arms on the table. “I could stay.”

“And do what?” She looked at him through red-rimmed eyes. “I thought you wanted to start over. How are you going to do that?"

He stretched his hands over the table. "Milah would stay."

Belle smiled weakly, wiping her eyes with one hand. "Maybe. She always wanted to see the world. I love it here. But Storybrooke's not the kind of place where everyone's happy. It's too small. Too slow."

He nodded; Belle's words echoed his own thoughts. Recently he has started to wonder if it was right for him. Not forever but until he got both feet on the ground. The shop was a bigger project than anything he'd ever done before, the kind he should leave to someone who knew what to do. 

"I think we can make this plan work." He gestured at the brightly lit screen for emphasis. "Let's try to relaunch the store. Give it a new name, fresh look, go all out. If it fails....at least we can say we gave it a good show."

Belle pressed her lips together. "I don't want you to waste your money."

He shrugged. "I don't need to sink more money into the house. All the holes are plugged for now. It's liveable. Besides I'm unemployed. If you don't hire me, I might turn pirate."

Belle smiled. "I can't pay you."

"I know." He grinned. "Yet."

She yawned loudly, one hand over her mouth. "Do you really think this is going to work?"

"Not a clue." He closed the screen. “That's the fun of it." Killian stood up, winding the cord around the power supply. "Fancy a drink?”

“Killian it’s a Sunday. The only bar in town is closed.”

He looked up at the clock in surprise but it was only five-thirty. 

Belle let out a soft giggle. “Go home. You've got a lot of work to start on tomorrow.”

 

/////

 

Emma squinted at the pile of bolts that she was sorting into glass canisters. Neal had left on Sunday night. So far Henry seemed okay but Emma was on edge. Even though it was a short visit, she didn't want Henry to get hurt. Three days post-Neal and things were finally settling back into place. 

The front door slammed open. “Sorry!” Archie stepped over the threshold, glasses spotted with rain. “The wind’s picking up.” Pongo’s leash was looped through his right hand. Emma came out from behind the counter.

“Hey buddy.” She knelt down to scratch the dog’s ears. Henry wanted a dog but as long as they lived in the apartment she was staying firm. It didn’t make Pongo any less adorable. Emma stood up slowly. “What can I do for you?”

His cheeks were pink. “It’s my gate. The latch doesn’t work anymore.” 

She raised an eyebrow. “Again?” Archie had replaced the latch before Thanksgiving - it should have lasted three or four years.

“I had to climb over the fence to get here,” he admitted sheepishly. 

Emma bit down on the inside of her cheek to prevent herself from laughing. “Let me see what I have in the back.” 

She passed old Mister Anderson staring at the paint display. “Any luck?” she asked on her way past. 

“I think it’s Lilac,” he replied. “Or Lavender. I’ll find it.” 

Emma moved on to the stock room. She’d already told him that she could mix up small canisters of both colors but he had insisted that he could remember which one his wife had used in their bedroom. If he guessed wrong, the permanent marker masterpiece from their grandson wouldn’t be his only problem. For his sake Emma hoped that Missus Anderson didn’t come home early from her sister’s house. 

She flicked on the lights in the stock room. On a hunch she'd ordered four latches. Only one was left in the package. 

When Emma came back to the counter, Pongo was sitting at Archie’s feet. “Try this,” she told Archie. “If it doesn’t work, give me a call and I’ll come over.” 

“I will. Thanks."

She touched the tablet screen. "Have you seen Leroy lately?"

Archie's cheeks flushed pink. "Not since last week." 

She waited patiently and he admitted that they had gotten into a disagreement about the height of Archie's hedges. "You know maybe you should talk to him," she suggested, tapping the screen.

"It's not that bad," Archie replied. If he'd been able to look Emma in the eye, she might have believed him.

Instead she took Archie's credit card and slid it through the small machine. She didn't look up when the door opened. Pongo’s nails were loud against the floor. 

“Hello there.” Emma’s stomach dropped at the sound of Killian’s voice. She'd tried hard not to think about him. They’d spent too long talking at the counter. He’d made her laugh which was enough of a reason for Emma to keep her distance. Her life was complicated enough.

Emma passed Archie his change. “Let me know how it goes, okay?”

“Thanks Emma. Come on Pongo.” Archie maneuvered his dog out of the store, leaving Emma alone with Killian. 

Fortunately Killian went straight for the lightbulb aisle and Emma went back to her sorting. “Swan?”

Emma came around the counter. “Yeah?” She didn’t bother waiting for him to answer. He was rocking back and forth on his heels, staring at the dizzying array of packages. 

“What’s up?” 

He didn't waste a second. "I need lightbulbs." 

“About time. The dim look went out of style twenty years ago.” She handed him three packages and pulled down two more. “I saw the ad in the paper. Grand re-opening, huh?”

“Belle’s idea.” Killian looked askance at the cardboard boxes in her arms. “I don’t need that many.” 

“Yeah you do,” Emma replied. She’d probably grabbed too many but she had an entire shipment of new inventory in the back. If she send Killian home with five boxes Robin could re-organize the entire section. 

“And you need outside lights too.” Emma snatched a package from the end of the aisle. “Those fixtures by the front door haven’t worked in years. You might want to get on that.” 

She moved quickly behind the counter. The faster she rang up his lights, the sooner he could leave her store. 

"You left your toolbox the other day." 

She swore, eyebrows coming together and lines appearing on her forehead. "Yeah. I’ll come by..." 

He waved away whatever she was going to say. "Things sorted?" He scratched behind his ear with one hand. 

She nodded. "Yeah." Nothing would ever be simple with Neal but she knew he loved Henry. The rest they'd figure out along the way. 

"You need anything else?" She pushed the paper bag across the counter. 

He looked overwhelmed by the volume of lightbulbs but didn’t argue. If the store was going to re-open in two weeks, better lighting was a necessity. But Killian looked up with a devilish smile. "You tell me."

It was the perfect opening. Emma tapped her pen against the counter. "Twinkle lights," she replied with a serious expression, waiting for his response.

“No.” He shook his head, hair falling over his forehead. “It’s not Christmas.” 

She’d said the same thing to Marco nearly five years ago but he had insisted that whimsy appealed to tourists and tourists brought in revenue. So Emma told Killian the same thing. “People passing through town want to see whimsical things.” Her smile softened. “Or they want repurposed used-to-be junk. Speaking of that, I have some wrought-iron posts if you need a sofa or something." 

He pulled his wallet from his pocket. "Just the lights." 

"Suit yourself." 

 

//////

The front door slammed open and Belle nearly slid across the floor. “Did you see the paper?” She brandished the newspaper in one hand, pushing it across the counter.

Killian pulled it closer with his right hand. Milah’s face was splashed across the front page, along with a picture of the shop. Belle’s image was on the bottom of the page. His eyes flickered over the text, taking in the article. Business Dropping. Daughter unable to maintain family’s beloved store. It speculated that the shop would go out of business before the summer. The author – Sidney Glass – had taken shots at Belle and Will and Killian, even Milah and Maurice didn’t escape the acid-tongued criticism. 

He didn’t know what had prompted such a salacious article but Belle clearly had her suspicions. “I was so stupid,” she murmured. “I didn’t think she ever stoop this low.” 

“Who?” His forehead wrinkled in confusion. 

“Cora. Who else would do this? It’s not just a slow news day. She doesn’t care about the money. She wants the shop.”

Killian stared at the crumpled paper. The article was right – he was engaged in a fool’s errand. He couldn’t save a flower shop. It had all been a useless whim, a misguided idea. Coming back to Storybrooke was a mistake; it had been Milah’s dream to renovate the house, Milah’s idea to settle down near her childhood home. 

He didn’t belong in this town; it was so far removed from the life he knew that he’d lost perspective, allowed himself to be swept up in fantasy. He couldn’t stay here and run a shop. He should have sold the house, cut his losses and gone back to stay with Liam. If he had kept to his plan, none of this would have happened. 

Frustration made his throat tight. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. We can’t change anything.” He’d failed, again. First Milah, then his job, now this. Killian destroyed everything he touched. Better to leave now than continue down this ridiculous path. 

Belle tightened her grip on the paper. “You don’t mean that.”

When he didn't say more, her expression became guarded. "I should go."

Killian called after her but Belle had already left, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the windows.

He knew the right thing would be to go after her, apologize for his rudeness, but he couldn't move. 

The phone began to ring and Killian yanked it from the base. “What?”

“I hope you enjoyed our article.” Cora’s voice came through the headset and Killian clenched his right hand in a tight fist. 

“You have some nerve calling here.”

Her laughter set his teeth on edge. “You don’t scare me Mister Jones. And do you know why?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “Because you don’t have any leverage. You see I did some research on you. Does the number nine mean anything to you?”

Killian stared blankly across the shop. He’d been in the middle of changing the lightbulbs when Belle came in and his ladder was still in the middle of the floor. “Should it?” His voice was thick and he struggled to maintain his calm.

“It’s the number of addresses you’ve had in the last twelve years. Nine addresses Mister Jones. You know what that tells me? That you’re not a threat. You’ll stay for a few months, maybe longer if it suits you, but we both know that sooner or later you’re going to give up. It’s what you do.”

“You don’t know anything about me.” 

“Mm.” She hummed quietly. “You and I both know that’s a lie.”

Kilian hung up the phone and tossed it across the room. It slammed against the tile floor and broke apart. He stared at the plastic pieces. Cora’s words taunted him, dared him to lash out, and gave life to the dark thoughts that had chased him from one place to another.

He stumbled across the floor, flicking the sign from Open to Closed without bothering to lock the door. He’d found a bottle of rum in Maurice’s desk. It was dusty but nearly full.

/////

The bell over the door sounded far away. He thought the door was locked but didn't care enough to get up. Killian squinted. The floor tile was an ugly color. He hated tile. It reminded him of a primary school hallway. 

"Killian? You in here?" 

The overhead lights came on and he groaned, one hand over his face.

Emma came around the counter, boots loud on the floor. She nearly stepped on the bottle that had rolled out of reach.

The alcohol was making him fly. His head lolled back, connecting with a wooden drawer. He squinted in her general direction. "Hello love."

She looked down at him with a mixture of disgust and sympathy. 

“You’re pretty.” 

Emma knelt down next to him, one hand tight against his shoulder. Her hair smelled like coconut. 

“And you’re drunk,” she replied. She struggled to her feet, dragging him up like a sack of rocks. Killian swayed, gripping at her sweater when the floor pitched beneath him.

He leaned heavily against her side, not that he needed (but the floor kept shifting). It was easier to let her carry him.

“Where’s your braid?” The loose strands of her hair brushed his neck. He squinted in the half-light. It was impossible to judge the time.

“Come on Jones.” She led him in a shuffle across the floor. 

He wanted to tell her things, important things, words that needed to be let loose. “I don’t dance.” 

The sound of her laughter echoed in the quiet shop. “Me either.” 

Her hand was warm against his ribs and he wondered if Emma Swan ever went fishing. The question made her laugh (again) but he was too focused on the rising blackness to hear her answer. 


	8. Chapter 8

Emma perched cross-legged on the desk, bent over her laptop. Her feet were nearly numb but she didn't want to run up the heating bill. She’d installed Killian on an ancient sofa in Maurice’s office.

If Granny hadn't charged into the hardware store, newspaper in one hand and coffee in the other, Emma wouldn't have known about the article. Sidney had outdone himself, twisting rumor and gossip into three pages worth of nonsense.

"It's rubbish," Granny had insisted. "Lots of sensational words without a dose of reality." She'd pushed the paper across the counter at Emma. "Don't believe half of it. Maurice had a lot of flaws but he loved his girls. His wife was the same age as my Anita. They graduated high school together. Milah looked so much like her mother."

Emma hadn't known Milah – maybe she’d seen her in passing but she didn’t remember ever having a conversation with Belle’s sister. "What was she like?"

Granny hadn't answered immediately and Emma worried that she was going to be on the receiving end of a lecture. Emma had tried to brush off the question but Granny had made up her mind. "A free spirit. This town was always too small for her." Granny had frowned, attention turned to a memory Emma wasn’t privy to knowing, but recovered quickly, gesturing with one hand.

"Colette held that family together. I don't think Maurice ever recovered after she died." She'd gone quiet and Emma wondered what happened. But Granny wouldn’t share anything until she was ready; Emma still didn’t know much about Granny's daughter. Ruby was the same as her grandmother: open and blunt about most things but closed off about Anita.

But Granny hadn’t been through with her story, she’d continued despite Emma’s inattention. "When Belle found out that Milah bought that old house, she was over the moon. Her father wasn't doing well by then. Liver." Granny scowled; she didn't make a secret of her opinions. "She was too young. They both were." Emma hadn't asked whether Granny meant Belle or Killian; she assumed Belle but it didn't matter. The accident had cast a dark shadow over the town.

“You should check on that boy,” Granny had insisted before she left the shop. “He needs someone to look after him.” Granny didn’t waited for Emma to answer. She’d gone back to the diner but left the newspaper on the counter.

Emma had stared at the headlines until the letters blurred. She’d texted Robin almost immediately, fingers trembling over the keypad, autocorrect distorting her words beyond sense. It had taken three tries to strike the correct message. Robin, to his credit, hadn’t asked why Emma needed him to come in early.

She’d read the article three times and if ten percent of the story was true, there was a lot she didn’t know about Killian Jones. They had more in common than she cared to admit.  

////

The couch springs creaked and Emma looked up from her screen. “Hey," she said softly. He’d been passed out for most of the afternoon. She stretched her arms over her head, back stiff from bending over the computer.

He looked over, bleary eyed and still drunk. "Swan. What are you doing?"

She uncrossed her legs. “How do you feel?”  
  
He tried to sit up but only sank further into the cushions. On his second attempt he managed to connect his feet to the floor. Killian slumped over, hands braced on his knees, her question forgotten.

"Here." She handed him a bottle of water. Emma could only imagine what it felt like to have your past splashed across the front page of a newspaper.

He shifted the bottle from one hand to another. "It was my fault you know?"

Emma closed her laptop screen. “What are you talking about?”

"The accident." He was slurring, accent made stronger by the alcohol, but she could understand him. "I was supposed to take the day off. But I didn’t." He let out a heavy sigh. "I thought she'd be pissed and go without me."

The realization of what he was saying stung. Emma's mouth was dry.

He nodded, answering her unspoken question, eyes bloodshot and defeated. "She waited for me. I got home late. She was furious, left straightaway, told me not to bother coming up at all. Said she'd be back on Sunday."

His hands were unsteady when he unscrewed the cap. The plastic bottle creaked in his tight grasp. "Belle called me from the hospital."

"Oh Killian." Emma wanted to cross the room and sit beside him, hold his hand and tell him that everything would be okay, but she couldn't move. "It wasn’t your fault."

He swiped his knuckles over his cheeks. "I should have been there."

Emma listened to the wall clock tick. Her jaw ached from clenching it so tightly. Guilt was a familiar friend.

He sipped from the water bottle like it was a flask, movements still jerky.

"Do you need anything?" She felt terrible leaving him but he was awake and as long as he didn't try to drive home should be fine. "A ride home?"

David had picked up Henry at the bus stop; riding in a patrol car was a great distraction for Henry. She hoped that Henry hadn’t pushed through her vague excuse (she’d been known to make house calls and the flower shop was in such disarray that it wasn’t unfathomable that she would need to spend the better part of the afternoon fixing something).

He shook his head. "Think I'll stay here awhile."

Emma nodded. "I'll lock the door. If you need anything, ring the store’s doorbell. I can hear it upstairs.” She shoved her computer into her bag. “I’ll come right down, okay?”

He didn't answer. The lights in the main part of the shop were off and the sunlight was quickly fading. Emma locked the door behind her and made her way home.

/////

Emma climbed the back stairs leading to her apartment. She twisted the doorknob without bothering to reach for her keys. The door swung open; Mary Margaret and David were moving around her small kitchen in unison. Henry was sitting at the center island, books spread open. She took off her coat and hung it on the hooks near the door.

“What are you making?”

David looked over his shoulder. Mary Margaret was spooning something from a saucepan into a glass container on the counter. “Lasagna. I hope you’re hungry.”

Emma came up behind Henry, leaning down to hug him. “Hey kid,” she said softly in his ear. He wrapped his arms around her neck. “Hey mom.”

“You okay?” David asked, his face red from the steam.

“Yeah.” Emma ruffled Henry’s hair on her way to the sink. Mary Margaret stepped aside to make room for Emma. David tossed Emma a towel and gestured at the assembly line. “Cheese. Soft cheese. Sauce. Noodles. Layer and repeat.”

Emma looked at the dish. “How many are you making?”

“Four,” Mary Margaret answered, uncurling a long noodle from the pot. “Maybe five.”

Emma stepped out of the work space. “Are you trying to put Granny out of business?”

David chuckled. “Who do you think gave us the recipe?” He picked up a plate and set it down in front of Mary Margaret. “Cheese,” he prompted and she sprinkled a liberal handful over top.

“No one needs this much lasagna,” Emma protested weakly.

David poured more sauce into the pan. “Grab the foil. This one’s going in the freezer. And I told Graham I’d bring one to the station.”

“You guys are feeding half the town.” Emma pulled the foil out of a drawer. Sometimes Mary Margaret and David felt like the parents she’d never known and she was glad Henry got to grow up surrounded by people like them.

She turned her attention to Henry and his math textbook. “What’s the homework situation like?”

“I have a spelling test tomorrow. Mary Margaret already went over the words with me.”

Emma looked over at her friend who nodded in confirmation.

“And I need you to sign a permission slip.”

“For what?” Emma watched Henry rifle through his papers until he found a green folder.

“We’re going on a field trip to the mines.”

“The mines,” Emma repeated incredulously.

“Not inside,” Henry amended. “Miss Piper said we’re going to find all different kinds of rocks and crystals.”

“Hmm.” She read over the permission slip. It asked for parent volunteers. Maybe she’d see if Robin could open the store up and she’d chaperone. Not that she didn’t trust the teacher but the mines were dangerous.

David wiped his hand on a towel. “I think that’s it. Emma the timer’s going for the one in the oven.”

She set aside the permission slip. “You guys aren’t staying?”

Mary Margaret shook her head. “I’d love to but I have play rehearsal tonight.”

Emma nodded and looked over at David. "What about you?"

"If you don't mind," he trailed off.

“I don’t. Henry?” Emma looked over at her son. He nodded enthusiastically. “You’re staying,” she told David. Emma walked around the center island to stand beside Mary Margaret.

“I owe you guys.”  
  
Mary Margaret twisted her scarf around her neck, the gauzy material flowing over her sweater. “No you don’t. Is he okay?”

Emma plucked at her sleeve. "I don't know.” She raked both hands through her hair. “I can't imagine what it must feel like."

Her friend didn't answer. "He's lucky to have you."

"What?" Emma's forehead wrinkled, "it's not like that. We're just friends."

"Okay, then he's lucky to have you as a friend." Mary Margaret wrapped her arms around Emma. "There's rocky road in the freezer," she whispered in Emma's ear.

Emma nearly melted into the floor. After the day she'd had ice cream would be a welcome distraction. After Henry went to bed she'd switch to whiskey.

David was elbows-deep in soap suds when Emma rejoined Henry at the island. "Leave those," she protested. "I'll get them."

He adjusted the water. "Can't. If I don't bring this home, I'll have to sleep at the station."

Emma looked at the mess of books over the island. "Henry why don’t you move this so we don't spill food on your homework?"

"Okay." He was more than willing to put away his math homework.

"But leave your book." Homework first, library books second.

David turned off the water. "Everything okay?"

She glanced at him; it was his concerned deputy tone. Emma raised an eyebrow. "Yeah. Had to take care of something."

"Mary Margaret told me. I didn't know you and Jones were close." It wasn't a question but he waited for her answer.

Emma exhaled slowly. "He comes into the store sometimes." She shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. "I thought you'd approve?"

"Of you making sure someone is okay? Yeah. I do." He grinned. "Just a little surprised."

She didn't blame him. David was her first real friend. He'd known her for longer than anyone in town.

"Don't tell Mary Margaret, but it felt like something she would do."

David's smile stretched across his face. "Yeah it is."

 

////

Killian pushed open the hardware store’s door, carrying two coffees. "Swan?" His head ached but he felt more human after coffee and a long shower. Much of yesterday was a blur but he remembered Emma.

The counter was empty and he set down his peace offering.

“You look better.”

Killian turned, nearly slamming his hip against the counter. Emma was standing on a step ladder but climbed down when he stepped toward her. Her hair was pulled in a low ponytail and he tried not to stare at the way her black sweater hugged her chest.

"I wanted to thank you," he said, gesturing at the coffee. "For yesterday."

"You didn't have to." She climbed down the ladder easily.

Ruby had been more than happy to make it the way Emma preferred (one sugar, no cream). He'd filed the information away for later.

She set the paper cup down. "Sidney's an ass. He'll write whatever for the highest bidder."

Killian leaned against the counter. "I noticed. Belle doesn't deserve this."

"Yeah. I know. Did you tell her that?" Emma crossed her arms over her ribs. He stared at the piece of hair that had fallen loose from her ponytail and curled against her neck.

"Aye. Went by last night.” His own coffee was too hot and it burned his tongue. He wondered how Emma had managed to swallow any. “I apologize again for the state I was in.”

The corners of Emma’s mouth twisted into a scowl. “I probably wouldn’t have done much better. Forget about it, okay?"

Killian lifted his cup. “Consider it forgotten. You sell paint, right?”

“Yeah.” She looked confused at the sudden subject change but Emma pointed at the back wall. “Yell if you need anything.”

Killian stared at the paint chips until his coffee had gone cold. Midway through the cup, he heard the slapping of sneakers against the floor and looked down. A little boy, no higher than his thigh, stared up at him.  
  
"Roland?" A man came down the center aisle on the boy's heels. "You started without me."

Killian stepped aside so the man could stand close to the paint display.

"Thanks," the man replied, lifting the boy into his arms. It was the same man who had been behind the counter when Killian returned the spare key. "Now what color should we get?"

Killian remained in front of the display, long after young Roland had selected a bright orange that would be better suited for a traffic sign. His coffee was long gone and he'd spread an array of swatches over the floor when Emma came down the aisle.

“Not to rush you but I close at seven." She leaned over his shoulder and studied the selection. "Want a hand?"

"Yes." He was close to desperation. He'd discarded white but now it sounded like the best option. "Who needs nine shades of blue?"

"Why blue?" She reached across him, pushing aside Bright Cerulean and Ocean Wave.

"I thought it would match my eyes," he deadpanned.

"These are indoor swatches," she said, moving some chips to the left. "These are outdoor. What are you painting?”

"A bulls-eye on the front door of the shop," he replied. "Want to make sure there's enough material for a sequel."

The front door was a faded blue-gray, peeling in spots and by all rights an eyesore. If they were going to re-open the store, it would need to re-painted.

“I’d go with red for a bulls-eye.” She rocked back on her heels. “What about green?"

"I'm not a forest ranger."

"O-kay." She drew out the word, passing her hand over the reds and oranges. "Yellow?"

He shrugged. It wouldn't be the worst color. "I don't want it to be too feminine."

"That's pink," she replied. "And it's a flower shop, so you're pretty screwed." She turned back to the display of swatches and reached for a chip. "What about Duckling?"

Killian considered it. The siding was white, at least it would be if they cleaned it, and maybe yellow would work. But the color she'd suggested reminded him of a child's nursery. "It's too light."

"Alright." She pulled another swatch. "Buttercup?"

"It looks like a crayon."

Emma let out a soft giggle. "I like it.” She rolled up her sleeve to reveal a small tattoo on her wrist. "But I might be biased," she said, tapping her index finger against the flower’s outline.

Killian let out a sigh. He’d been defeated. "Fine. I'll take it."

"You want it now? Or later?"

"Later," he said. They wouldn't start until tomorrow anyway. "And I need sandpaper. Primer too."

"Come on Picasso. I'll wrap all this up for you."

They walked down the aisle and Emma asked about brushes.

Killian swore under his breath. He should have these things - his shed was filled with tools – but he didn't want to bring forward those ghosts. Better to buy new. “Add it to the list.”

"What about your front window?" Emma punched the cash register buttons and the drawer swung open.

Killian passed three bills over. “What’s wrong with our window?”

“It's a mess.” She slid his receipt across the counter.

“It gives the place character." Killian slipped the receipt into his pocket. “I’ll bring the truck around tomorrow.”


	9. Chapter 9

Tuesday began with a strange parade of customers into the shop. It started innocently enough with Granny.

"I want you to make some small arrangements," she said with preamble. "Maybe in mason jars? Ruby's always going on about those."

Killian tried to keep up with the older woman. He didn't have the first idea what she was talking about but he knew how to search the web. "How many?"

"Bring twelve." Granny crossed her arms over her chest. "Nothing big. No pink. No roses."

He scribbled a note. "Anything else?"

Granny stared at Killian over the rim of her glasses. "Be careful with Cora."

He replaced the pen. "You getting soft on me?"

Her smile could only be described as wolfish. "Think whatever you want. Drop the flowers off on Friday. I want them set up before the weekend.”

Granny was followed by a man Killian hadn't met before, who wanted to know if they could make something with daisies for his girlfriend's birthday. Killian had called Will from the office before confirming the order. Will complained ("I'm an illustrator you prat, not an errand boy.") but two hours later a full inventory list was in Killian's inbox from their supplier. Located three towns over, the man confirmed that he could produce the flowers in time.

Two days later Leroy stood in front of the register, seeking violets for a woman he wouldn't name. Killian recommended a purple orchid instead and Leroy left the shop with his purchase and minimal grumbling.

His suspicions were raised when he met Anton who wasted close to forty minutes walking around the shop, leaving with a vintage scale that looked like it hadn't been used in a kitchen in decades. Without a price on it, Killian had accepted the amount Anton suggested.

By the time Friday arrived, Killian had sold more flowers in a week than he had in the previous three. Will was bent over the prep table, pencil in hand. "I can't do it mate."

Killian looked over his shoulder. “You don’t have a choice.”

Will protested. Killian heard him mumbling watercolor and ink but didn't care. They didn't have time for Will to complain. They needed some kind of poster announcing the re-opening and Killian couldn't paint letters.

The bell over the door jangled and Emma walked inside. “Shut it,” Killian muttered to Will as she approached the counter.

“What can I do for you?”

She pressed both hands against the counter. "About the other day. I meant to come back but..."

"Something came up?" He could sense the hesitation and knew the look of someone who had said too much. Killian spread both arms wide. “You planning to buy something, or just give me grief?”

Emma smiled. "I want something to brighten up my store."

"What happened to your orchid?"

She caught her lip between her teeth. "It's in my apartment. I didn't think it was getting enough light. And Henry waters it," she added defensively.

“Alright. Any idea what you want?" Belle had introduced him to Maurice's collection of polaroid photos, complete with notes underneath. Killian lifted the box onto the counter.

“Something yellow?”

Killian rolled his eyes. “Look around. See what you like."

"Your expertise is mind-blowing," she replied dryly, making her way through the aisle. "You don't have a cactus, do you?"

"Fresh out," he replied. "Besides it’s not yellow.”

Will muttered something but quieted when Killian glared in his direction.

Killian came around the counter. Emma was staring at a bucket of bright pink flowers. “Your welcome wagon had me hopping all week."

She raised her eyebrows. "'What are you talking about?"

"Half the town's been tramping through here. You didn't know?"

Emma frowned. "No."

"Oh. Well go look and see what you like." If it wasn't Emma, he only had one other person in mind as the source of his new business.

She ultimately settled on a fern that he hoped would survive the walk back to her store.

Will waited until the shop was empty before he offered his opinions. "You know you could ask her out."

Killian scowled. “Don't know what you're talking about. I’m heading out for a few minutes. You alright?"

“Course. I’m bloody brilliant.”

Killian shrugged on his coat and went straight for Granny's diner.

He sat down at the counter and waited until Granny had poured him a coffee to ask. "You're meddling," he accused.

She quirked an eyebrow. "Don’t know what you mean. Belle's a good girl. She doesn't deserve this bullshit."

Killian sipped his coffee slowly. Granny slid a piece of pie across the counter. "Two of my arrangements are pretty puny," she complained. "I'll expect something better next week."

"Next week?" He hadn't realized it was a repeating order.

"Unless you're planning to practice on someone else's orders. I don’t care if you’re busy. Remember, no pink."

"Yes m'am." He resisted the urge to salute, certain it would get him knocked onto his ass. The blueberry pie was delicious but he couldn't let Granny have the last word. "Your cherry pie is better," he told Granny around a bite.

"Shut up before you choke," Granny ordered, wiping down the counter with a rag.

//////  
  
“Hey Killian.”

He looked down at Henry on the sidewalk. “Hello lad. What do you think?” Will had been working on the sign for the better part of a week and it was finally ready to be displayed.

“It’s crooked.”

“Left or right?” Killian tried to maintain his balance.

“Left,” Henry answered. “Not that much. Yep. Right there.”

Even though Will had complained for the better part of a month about the new name and design suggestions and the medium, the sign had turned out beautifully.

They’d argued over names but had agreed that “Petals by the Pier” had a much better ring than anything else they'd come up with – it wasn’t perfect but it was an improvement.

“Good.” Killian finished securing the sign and made his way back down the ladder. He’d found an old tool belt in the supply room and while he felt ridiculous, it made carrying hooks and screws and told easier.

Killian stared up at the sign. After much complaining, Will had settled on dark blue with white lettering.  
  
“It looks nice.” Emma came up behind Henry and Killian, her hands around a ring of keys. “Hey Henry why don't you see if Granny has our order ready?"

Killian glanced over at Emma. She twisted the hem of her coat sleeve.  “You alright Swan?”

"Yeah. I’m fine.”

“Liar,” he countered.

She pushed her hair over her shoulders. “I need a knob for an old sink. None of my usual places have it so I have to brave the flea market scene next weekend."

He turned away from the shop, arms crossed. "What's the problem?"

"Henry. I told him we could work on his rocket. Kind of hard if we're driving around the boonies all weekend."

"What's it for?"

Emma grimaced. "Jefferson's doing a renovation. And usually it’s not that bad. But he needs knobs for a sink. Who has extra sinks lying around from the 60s?”

"I do," Killian answered and Emma's eyebrows went up in surprise. "I carried it out of the house myself."

"Really?” She leaned forward. He'd never noticed the spray of freckles on her nose.

"It should be in my shed."

“Can I come by and check?”

“Whenever you’d like.”

Emma glanced at Henry who was standing on the front steps of Granny’s diner with a paper bag in his hand. “How about after I drop Henry off at school tomorrow? I can have Robin open the store.”

“It’s a plan.”

////

Killian stepped onto the front porch when he heard the door slam. Emma stepped out of a bright yellow Bug.

“Nice place,” she said, looking up at him (and the porch). The sunlight highlighted the peeling paint and the cobwebs. He wondered if she noticed all of the projects that still needed to be done; Milah always took in the whole space quickly and assessed the list of immediate must-dos.

“Come on.” He led her into the house. She stood silent in the hallway, glancing left and right, and Killian tried to see the house through Emma's eyes. Boxes were piled in the foyer and sheets covered the furniture. It was a step up from a dump.

"It's very The Notebook."

He frowned, not sure what she meant, but Emma had moved into the kitchen.

She stood braced against the sink, hands flat against the counter.

"The shed's right there," he said, pointing needlessly through the window. "You can take whatever you like."

“Thanks,” she answered. “Can I ask you something?”

“Fire away.”

She turned around, her lower back pressed against the sink.  “Why did you come back?”

Killian stiffened. "Didn’t have anywhere to go. This seemed like a good idea.”

“Oh. Okay.”

He moved across the kitchen to stand beside Emma. “My brother’s got a wife and two dogs and a job that he actually enjoys. I couldn’t tell him that I’d destroyed my life.”

“Really?” The question was gentle; it was obvious from her expression that Emma thought he was exaggerating.

He couldn’t look at Emma. “I got careless after Milah died. Stopped paying attention to the finer details. Not the best when you’re trading commodities. I took a gamble and lost. Got sacked straight away. Pissed through most of my savings and dragged my sorry ass back here.” Killian cleared his throat. “I thought my life was over.”

“What about now?” Her voice was quiet.

“I can’t let Belle down. She doesn’t have anyone, you know? Milah always looked after her.”

Emma touched his hand gently. “She can take care of herself.”

“I know that,” he replied with a chuckle. “Doesn’t make it easier.”

He realized that Emma’s boots were touching his shoes.  She reached out, gripping his collar and pulling him closer. He wrapped one hand against her lower back, his left hand cupping her cheek. Their lips met, his nose grazing her cheek. Her left hand clutched at his hair and he deepened the kiss. Emma pulled back slightly, forehead resting against his.

Killian struggled to form words. "That was..."

"I know.” Emma backed away, hands falling to her sides. “Come on Jones.” Her words were light but he could clearly read the tension in her shoulders. “If your shed looks like the rest of this place I’m going to need some help.”

“As you wish.”

///////

The following Monday Killian got to Granny’s before seven. He sat at the counter, paper bag at his elbow. He had it on good authority from Belle that Emma’s morning routine involved walking Henry to school and coffee at Granny’s before she opened the store. It felt silly, asking Belle about Emma’s schedule like he was an adolescent with a crush, but with the storerooms cleaned out he was low on reasons to visit the store.

“Morning,” Ruby called over the counter, her voice extra-bright. It had to be Emma.

He turned on the stool, glad he'd chosen a spot closest to the door.

“Swan,” he said, turning to face her with a smile. “Join me?”

Hesitation flickered over her face but she stepped closer. “I should get to the store.”

“One cup of coffee?” Ruby was already pouring hot coffee into the empty mug. She topped off Killian’s cup with a wink and sauntered away.

Emma sank onto the stool next to him, pulling the coffee closer. She looked at the paper bag by his elbow with interest. “What's this?"  She tapped the bag with her fingers.

He pushed it closer. “Find out.”

She looked inside. He'd asked for a bear claw and a chocolate eclair. "Killian..." Her expression had turned serious and guarded.

He touched her wrist gently. "It's just breakfast. Nothing more."

She shook her head and he hurried to get the words out. "If I overstepped, I'm sorry."

Emma pushed the bag away. "No. You didn't." She turned to face him.

The diner noise faded. He struggled to form a sentence.

"I'm quite perceptive you know." He fixed her with a knowing expression, gesturing at the space between their arms. "And this is you avoiding me." It wasn't a question or an accusation. He'd spent the better part of three days trying to untangle his thoughts.

Instead of answering, Emma covered his hand with hers, palm warm against his knuckles.

He wished he was a different person, above asking for reassurance, but she was the closest friend he had in this town. He'd forgotten what that felt like. “What happened…it doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“What? Is that what you want?” The tip of her nose was pink.

“No.” Killian turned his hand over so his knuckles were pressed against the counter.

She laced their fingers together with a soft sigh. “Oh.” Emma pushed the paper bag across the counter. "Have a doughnut."

He reached inside with his left hand, reluctant to break contact with Emma's hand, and pulled out the eclair. Emma reached for the bag with her right hand. She took an enormous bite, just as Granny came through the swinging kitchen door.

Granny clicked her tongue at the sight of them eating from a bag. She set two plates down but winked at Killian over her glasses.

Emma set her pastry down. Granny refilled Emma’s coffee and topped off his cup. Emma awkwardly wiped her fingers onto a napkin.

Reluctantly Killian released her hand. She leaned one elbow against the counter. "I forgot to tell you about the rocket. It was just the beginning.” She lifted her coffee cup. “He’s neck-deep in space books.”

"No more dinosaurs?"

Emma swallowed, muscles in her throat tightening. "Oh he's still into those. Whoever heard of dinosaurs in space?"

Killian let out a strangled laugh. She scowled, ready to tell him to forget it, but he was quick to explain.

"You're not a doctor who fan, are you?"

"No."

His smile widened at her bewildered expression. "If you ever want to try it, let me know. I think Henry would like it."

Emma frowned. "I'm not really into that stuff."

He raised an eyebrow. "And I suppose Harry Potter doesn't qualify as 'that stuff'?" Killian exaggerated the air quotes.

"Nope." She tried to hide her smile behind her coffee cup. "Completely different." Emma looked at the clock over the counter. "I should get the store." She slid off the stool. “Thanks for breakfast. I'll see you later.”

Granny came over, coffee pot in hand. “You need anything else?”

“No. We’re all set,” he replied, placing two bills on the counter. He needed to call Gwen Stone and thank her for the offer but he wasn’t ready to sell. Eventually he’d tell Belle. Maybe one day he’d tell Emma.


	10. Chapter 10

"What do you think?" Killian rocked back on his heels and looked over at Belle. She crossed her arms and considered the doorway.

The opening was in five days. They were checking the forecast daily but so far it said clear.

She tapped one finger against her chin. "Well I think you could have recorded Will trying to use the powerwasher, but it looks nice."

"What about the color?" He gestured at the door. The trim and doorknob were still covered with painter’s tape.

"I like it. Emma has good taste."

"I should have lied and said I picked it out," he grumbled.

When Belle didn't reply, he stood up to see what had drawn her attention. Cora Mills slammed her car door and came around the vehicle. "Getting ready for your big day, I see.”

"Yeah." Belle's voice was tight.

Cora pursed her lips. "I admire your spirit my dear. But don't throw all your money into paint. You still need to keep to our payment schedule."

“We’ll stay to it,” Killian replied. He’d run the numbers that morning. If he rented out the back garage and business continued to be steady, they could pay off the balance before autumn. Little John was interested in the space but they needed to settle on a price.

“See that you do.” Cora turned abruptly and returned to her car. They watched her drive away in silence.

"I really hate that woman," Belle told Killian.

"Me too." He looped one arm over Belle's shoulder and turned her back to look at the store. "Now tell me, should I pull off that awning, or let it be?"

"You'll hurt yourself," she chided.

"Just answer the question." He tried to sound confident but he had no idea if he could pull down an awning. It didn't look like much, just a few pieces of metal connected to the building. Nothing he couldn't manage.

"I guess it would look brighter." She didn't sound very confident.

"Then we'll take it down. You head back to work and we'll get started." He glanced around but Will had gone missing. When he commented on it to Belle, she just smiled indulgently.

"His bike's still there. He couldn't have gone far."

After Belle had gone back to the library, Killian climbed the ladder to get a better look at the bolts holding the awning together. It was a simple enough to disconnect the bolts holding the awning together (if he could find the right tools).

"What the hell are you doing?" Will's voice came from the base of the ladder.

"Measuring a bolt. Go get me a ruler," Killian replied.

"Here." Will passed his phone to Killian. "Use this."

"What do you want me to do with this?" He stared in disgust at the phone. "I need a real ruler."

"Here." Will passed a plastic green ruler to Killian. When he glanced down, Henry was standing next to Will.

"Thanks Henry." He ignored Will's sputtering and squinted at the bolts. "Hey could you do me a favor?"

"Sure." The boy was still wearing his backpack.

"Can you ask your mum for a three-quarter inch ratchet?"

"Three-quarters? Are you sure?" Henry squinted up at Killian and the expression was so Emma that he nearly fell off the ladder.

"Quite. It's your ruler after all." He passed the instrument back to Will.

Henry took off down the sidewalk.

"You need my help?" Will shuffled out of Killian's field of vision.

"No, I thought Henry could help me pull down the awning," he snapped, climbing down the ladder. "Why, do you somewhere to go?"

Will scowled. "Belle's birthday is next week and I want to finish her gift. Can't do that properly if you've got me climbing ladders."

He’d forgotten about Belle’s birthday. “Fine. Head out. I'll finish up here."

Henry returned with the ratchet. “My mom says if you’re taking off the awning that I should stand on the other side of the street.”

“Smart woman your mum.” Killian struggled to work the ratchet. His fingers were sweaty and the metal kept slipping from his grasp.

“Here.” Henry passed Killian a pair of gloves. “She said you’d probably need these.”

Killian slipped the gloves over his fingers. Henry was a much better assistant than Will any day.

“Alright Henry. Why don’t you stand back? I’m going to try to get this off.”

“Shouldn’t you loosen the other side?”

Killian considered it. He’d need to move the ladder into position and fight with the bolts. If he left one side connected, the awning was less likely to crash to the ground.

“You should listen to him.” Emma’s voice came over Killian’s shoulder. He glanced over. She stood with one arm around Henry. “Want a hand?”

“No.” He didn’t turn around.

“Good. I wasn't offering. Robin, go make sure he doesn’t break the door.”

Another ladder appeared beside Killian. "You ever done this before?” Robin asked under his breath.

“Never. You?”

“Not like this.” By some miracle they managed to get the awning off without ruining the door or falling off the ladders.

/////

Emma shifted closer to Killian, tucking the hem of her dress beneath her legs. The air had turned cold but she loved the sight of the boats in the harbor and the sound of the waves crashing against the pier. She didn’t want to admit it out loud but Killian was right; he could plan an evening.

“Cold?” Killian shrugged off his leather jacket and draped it over her shoulders. Emma shifted closer with a smile.

“Thanks.” The lights from town glow in the darkness and she wanted to stay here forever, in this moment where nothing matters except for the sound of the waves.

Two days ago she’d summoned all her courage and practically charged into his store. He’d been surrounded by buckets of flowers: lilies and gerber daisies and clusters of purple flowers that she didn’t know the name of and bright blue helium tanks.

“What does this look like?” He’d thrust a handwritten order slip in her face. Emma had stared at the letters and numbers until she realized where he was pointing.

“Seven,” she’d replied, sending Killian into a rant about how sevens had a horizontal bar and why couldn’t anyone read his handwriting and asking what the hell he was going to do with seven tanks of helium.

Emma had interrupted him mid-sentence. “I’m here to ask you out. On a date.” She’d needlessly clarified her intentions, but the words had stopped him cold.

A horn sounded in the distance, disturbing the quiet and bring Emma back to the present. She stretched out her legs, resting her feet against the metal railing.

“You alright?” He twisted, trying to see her face in the moonlight.

“Yeah.” She leaned against him. “Do you think Mary Margaret would notice if I skipped the Farmer’s Market?”

He chuckled, arm around her shoulder. “I’d wager she would. And somehow it would be my fault.”

Emma smiled. David was more worked up than Mary Margaret, confirming and re-confirming what time he should shut down Main Street and verifying that the proper permits had been filed with the Mayor’s office. The Town Council had, after enduring years of Mary Margaret’s power point presentations, agreed to a town-wide market. It was strictly a trial basis for the summer, but Mary Margaret was convinced that it would become a Saturday destination for tourists.

 

“Just like the flowers for Ashley’s wedding are my fault?”  He’d been teasing her about the flowers for days; Emma had meant to tell him but she’d lost the post-it note and completely forgotten.

“Exactly. What’s she going to do with two hundred daisies?”

“No idea,” Emma replied. She looked up at the stars. She covered her mouth but he noticed the yawn anyway.

“Come on Swan, let’s get you home.”

///

Emma closed Henry’s door quietly. He was passed out on his stomach, book face-down on the floor. Her kid could sleep through a marching band concert.

Elsa was sitting on the sofa, laptop open across her legs. Emma tucked herself into a corner of the sofa and glanced at her friend’s screen. “Ice sculptures?”

Elsa closed it with a shrug. “I want something different for my bathroom. The mountain thing is kind of done.”

“You could paint it.”

Elsa grimaced. “Stop it. I’m just browsing pinterest, not trying to find you a new project.” She set her laptop on the cushion and spun to face Emma. “Speaking of project, did you talk to Mary Margaret?”

“Yup. She called Belle yesterday. We’re all set.” Emma pulled her dress over her knees. “I thought Ruby was going to set up the account right there at Granny’s counter.”

“Awesome.” Elsa let out a loud yawn. “I better head out.”

Emma stood up reluctantly and walked her friend to the door. “Thanks for watching Henry.”

“Any time,” Elsa replied, shifting her tote bag higher on her shoulder.


	11. Chapter 11

The day before the re-opening, Killian agreed to pick up a late shipment of dirt. He'd left before eight, sat in traffic on the highway and the bridge, only to discover the store didn't open until ten. Two hours later than expected with two boxes of dirt, he arrived at the store. Killian stared at the white twinkle lights framing the doorway and sign post.

Killian was out of the truck and over the threshold in record speed. He stood in the doorway, taking in the scene. “What is all this?”

It looked like some kind of magazine photo shoot. Ruby was balanced on a ladder, both hands wrapped around her camera. Belle was crouched in front of a metal bucket, arranging a spray of orange blossoms.

“Staging,” Ruby replied, leaning forward. Killian hurried over to the ladder, wrapping his right hand around the ladder leg.

“About time you got here.” Will came out of the back carrying two boxes of orchids.

Killian's head snapped left and right, trying to make sense of the activity. "I have the dirt in the truck."

Belle stood up. "Oh. Good." She caught her lip between her teeth and gestured to her left. "Will, maybe over here?"

The shop was cleaner than he’d ever seen it, buckets overflowing with bright flowers. "The dirt," he began and Belle cut him off with an apologetic wave.

"It’s birdseed,” she admitted.

"Birdseed?" Killian glanced over at the prep table. Emma was sitting next to a woman he didn’t recognize. “Swan. What’s going on?”

Emma spun around to face him, her legs tucked beneath her body. “Mary Margaret's class is finishing their bird unit next week. She says thank you by the way."

He moved quickly over the tile floors. "Not what I meant." Even if he admired their creative diversion, it didn’t explain why the store was buzzing with activity.

Emma grinned. "Ruby has you set you up on Instagram. She's going to take more pictures that you can use for flyers and posters. And Elsa,” she gestured to the other woman, “is taking your website live.”

Elsa was bent over a shiny silver laptop, hands flying over the keyboard. She didn’t glance up but waved one hand in his direction.

Killian stepped over the green cord that should have been plugged into his computer.

“Watch that cord,” Elsa said, “if you make me lose the connection I’ll slash your tires.”

“I don’t have a website,” he protested weakly.

“I know,” Elsa replied, but she didn’t stop typing. “Give me another hour and you will.”

“But why?” He needed more coffee.

Elsa didn’t stop typing. “Ask Emma.”

He looked over at the woman in question. “You need it,” she answered, unapologetic and direct. “For online orders.”

“Online orders?” His head was beginning to ache.

“We took the library catalog online last year,” Belle offered. “It’s so much easier for people.”

“She’s right,” Ruby answered. He looked over and she’d changed positions, crouching on the floor to capture something  else, knees bent low. “Elsa hooked Granny up and our take-out orders went through the roof.”

Emma flashed him a smile. “And people don't know what kind of flowers they want and saying 'hey do you have anything yellow' doesn't have the nicest ring."

He grinned. So far she was the only person who'd asked him that, not that he minded. “Can we talk?”

Killian led Emma to the back office but didn’t bother to close the door. “You did all this?”

She nodded. “I thought about what you said the other day. And you’re right. Sometimes you don’t have to do everything alone.”

He leaned forward to brush his lips gently across hers. Emma’s hands cradled his face, palms warm against his cheeks, pulling him closer. He wrapped one hand against her lower back, his left hand cupping her cheek.

Emma pulled back slightly, forehead resting against his.

“Come on you two. These pictures aren’t going to take themselves,” Ruby called from her place over the work table.

Emma wrapped one hand around his wrist. "We've got work to do," she said. Before they left the office, Killian brushed a kiss against her temple.

////// 

Emma pushed the door closed with her right hand. She took in the empty tables and clean counters, before turning her attention to Killian. He was standing behind the counter, hair standing at different angles. The sleeves of his blue shirt were rolled up to his elbows.

He slumped forward, leaning heavily on the counter. The lights were all still turned on but the store was quiet. “I hate flowers.”

"It's a little late for that." Emma came behind the counter, flipping three light switches as she passed. The re-opening was tomorrow. She vaguely remembered her first week running the hardware store alone - Marco had gone on vacation and she'd barely slept. Her calves had ached long after he'd returned. They had hired Robin soon after.

She set a cardboard box on the prep table. “I brought beer.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Really?”

“Yup.” Emma pulled out a bottle and popped open the lid. “Here. You’ve earned it.”

He moved slowly. Emma wondered how long it had been since he slept. When she asked, Killian shrugged.

"Week? Month maybe?" He took a long swallow from his beer.

She opened her own beer, hopping onto a stool, one leg crossed over the other. “So how’s it going?”

He hoisted himself onto the other stool with a groan. “No idea.”

Emma sipped her own beer. She didn’t know what to tell him. If Saturday went well, all of his work would have paid off. The alternative made her feel sick.

Killian’s forehead wrinkled with the force of his yawn. He glanced around the shop. “Where’s Henry?”

“Working on his history project. Jefferson’s going to bring him home later.” Grace and Henry had been friends since first grade.

Emma rested her elbows on the table. “You look like hell.”

“I might sleep in the office,” he admitted.

"Come on Jones, I'm kicking you out." Emma stood up. The beer had left a ring of condensation on the prep table. She retrieved a towel from under the counter.

Killian curled his fingers protectively around his beer. "You never sit still, do you?"

Emma grinned. "Not if I can help it. Come on, you should eat."

He tipped back the beer bottle. "Would rather stay here."

"Mmm I know. Let's go. I've got one of Mary Margaret's lasagnas defrosting on my counter." She hadn't planned to bring him back to her apartment, had really only thought about giving him the beer and commiserating over the joys of running a small business. But she knew the look on his face, exhaustion tinged with triumph. Once he got a second wind, he'd be able to appreciate his accomplishment.

 

////

"And this is it." Emma pushed open the apartment door. She'd brought him up the back stairs. Killian had followed without comment, punctuating the short walk with several jaw-cracking yawns. He stopped over the threshold.

"Come on." Emma led him down the narrow hallway. "Bathroom," she said, pointing left. She didn't point out her bedroom door, gesturing instead toward the kitchen. "Living room. Kitchen. Henry's room is over there." Five years ago she'd extended the kitchen wall to make his bedroom. It was a temporary wall and his room was barely wide enough for his bed, but he had an enormous porthole window that dominated his eastern wall.

The galley kitchen was tucked into a corner, leaving enough free space for her sofa, Henry's desk and a moderate sized table. She'd installed an island two years ago, separating the kitchen from the hallway. Even though it dominated the end of the hallway, Emma liked having another place to put things.

Killian turned his attention to the walls and the dozens of photos and pictures she had displayed.

"When was this?" He pointed to a picture of Henry bundled up in a bright orange snowsuit, standing proudly next to a lopsided snowman.

Emma grinned. "I think he was five. Whatever year we had that blizzard."

She had old steamer trunks instead of end tables and Henry's books dominated the shelving made from reclaimed pallets. Killian wandered to the bookshelves.

"I better get this cooking." She cut two large pieces of lasagna.

"Microwave is fine," Killian said over her shoulder. Emma whipped around, nearly cracking their heads together.

"Are you trying to kill me?" She reached over him for a plate. Microwave was the fastest way, even if Mary Margaret would have a fit. "Here." She passed the plate to him. "Cover it with a damp papertowel."

The microwave was to her left. Killian maneuvered through the small kitchen without crashing into Emma. She glanced at the table. Henry’s school books were piled to one side but there was enough space to eat.

"Sit," she urged. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. “Hang on.” Emma pulled it out and glanced at the message. Jefferson had sent “15 mins” with no punctuation. She swiped her finger over the screen. “Anytime works. How did it go?”

The microwave beeped as Jefferson sent back a picture of Henry and Grace at a long table covered with metal pieces. Emma smiled, turning her phone to show Killian.

He switched out the plates, setting the hot one down on the folded towel she’d placed on the counter. “Two minutes?”

“Three. Look at this.”

He tapped the keypad. “Where do you keep your forks?”

“That drawer.” His hand went left and Emma rolled her eyes. “One more over. The other way.” She laughed at his triumphant expression, brandishing the forks like a spear.

“What’s that?” Killian set down the lasagna and the forks.

She handed off the phone. “Henry’s project,” she replied. Emma moved around him, heading to the cabinet closest to the fridge. “You want something to drink? Water? Beer? Lemonade?” She held up a glass, both eyebrows raised.

“Water’s fine. What project?”

“Ask him when he gets here.” Emma sat down at the table, water in each hand.

Killian’s expression changed. “I don’t want to intrude,” he began but Emma waved off his objections.

“You aren’t.” The microwave beeped loudly. “Eat up.”

Killian retrieved his dinner without argument.

“I’m going to bring Henry over at eight on Saturday. Does that work?”

He paused, fork suspended over his lasagna. “I told you I don’t need help.”

Emma swallowed quickly. “I know. That’s why Robin’s staying at my store.”

 


	12. Chapter 12

“Are you okay?” Belle looked over the enormous vase she was carrying.

Killian nodded, head bobbing up and down like a marionette. He’d been out of his mind to think he could rescue a flower shop; he was hopelessly out of his depth. Panic rose swiftly. It wasn’t going to work. They’d never be able to get out from under Cora’s thumb. Belle would lose everything. His house would need to be sold, the shop would be shuttered and abandoned, and the entire town would know what a failure he was.

“Hey Killian!” Henry sprinted through the front door, bobbing around Belle and Will and Ruby. He was a lad on a mission.

Killian looked down, summoning a confidence he didn’t feel and grinned. “Good morning lad. Ready for action?”

“Absolutely.” Henry shrugged off his sweatshirt.

Killian gestured over his shoulder. “Toss that in the office and report to Will Scarlet.”

Henry darted toward the back office. Emma sidestepped a wooden wheelbarrow filled with violets. “I think this is a hazard.”

Killian was inclined to agree. Emma pulled it closer to the table leg, tucking the handles underneath the tabletop,

“Oi! Are these supposed to blink?” Will was standing in front of the bay window; the fairy lights had begun to rapidly flicker. It was going to give Killian a migraine if he stared at it another second.

“No.” Emma came up behind Will. “It might be a loose bulb. Let me take a look.” She swung herself into the window, narrowly avoiding the two enormous buckets of flowers Belle had arranged.

Killian felt like he was underwater, moving in slow motion despite the frantic movement around him. The front door slammed loudly.

Ruby held out the phone receiver. “Are you making deliveries tomorrow?”

Killian turned away from Emma, narrowing his eyes and trying to process what Ruby had said.  They weren’t due to open for another hour.

“Yes,” Belle answered, passing Killian a handful of ribbons attached to blue and teal balloons. “Take those outside,” she commanded. “Tie them around the doorknob and the mailbox. Oh and remind Will that we need to pick up the food.”

“What food?” A headache was building behind his eyes.

“I ordered three dozen cookie trays. You know, something nice for people to nibble on.”

Before he could protest, Belle shoved him gently between the shoulder blades. “Go on. We’re opening in an hour.”

Outside the bright sunlight made his eyes burn. Leroy and David Nolan were moving picnic tables across the sidewalk. Will was drawing something on the chalkboard marquee sign leaning against the mailbox. The balloons threatened to take flight but Killian wrapped his hand tightly around the ribbons.

David caught Killian’s eye. “So Belle finally kicked you out?”

Killian chuckled. “Aye.” He glanced back at the window. Emma had done something to make the lights stop blinking.

She caught his eye and gestured at the mailbox. “Go,” she mouthed, eyes wide.

////

He had never been so tired in his entire life. Muscles he didn’t know existed ached. He didn’t know whether he’d rather pass out under the prep table or sitting at the counter.

“You almost done?” He looked at Belle’s back; she was closing out the register. Her hair was twisted into a complicated knot, held in place by a pencil.

“Hang on.” She moved the mouse over the counter. “Just one more minute and I’m done.”

The phone rang loudly. Killian groaned. “We’re closed,” he grumbled at the receiver. “Call back tomorrow.”

He yanked it from the base, stabbing at the button. Before he could get out a word, Emma’s voice was in his ear. “Henry and I are at Granny’s. What do you want?”

The idea of food made his stomach growl. “Turkey sandwich and fries. And see if she’ll do that butterscotch milkshake.” Emma asked about Belle and he shifted the receiver away from his mouth, catching Belle’s attention. “What do you want from Granny’s?”

She shook her head, cheeks flushing. “Nothing.”

“Come on,” Killian pressed. “We haven’t eaten all day.”

Belle licked her lips quickly. “Will’s picking up sushi.”

“Really?” He chuckled into the phone. “It seems Belle has other plans.”

Emma’s reply mimicked his almost perfectly. Belle’s cheeks turned a fiery shade of red. Less than five minutes later, they locked up the door and prepared to part ways.

Belle wrapped the edges of her gauzy scarf around her neck. She touched Killian’s arm with one hand. “Thank you.”

He tilted his head to the side. Anything he could say would sound insincere. Instead he pulled Belle into a hug. “We’re just starting,” he replied.

Belle stepped backwards. “I better go.”

“I’ll be expecting a full report tomorrow,” Killian called, not caring that his voice carried.

Belle waved her hand over her head, not bothering to turn around. Killian felt his energy returning. He turned left, making his way to Granny’s without paying attention to how much his feet ached or how long he’d been standing.

Emma and Henry were sitting in the outdoor courtyard, a red basket on the table between them. Killian came through the wooden entryway and sat between them. He leaned over the basket. “Onion rings?”

“And hot sauce,” Henry mumbled around a mouthful, pushing it closer to Killian’s elbow.

Emma released her straw. “Chew first. Answer later.”

Henry nodded.

Killian gestured at the three waters. “Not very celebratory, is it?”

Before Emma could answer, Granny made her way down the steps, carrying a tray with three enormous milkshakes. “Chocolate mint.” She passed the first glass to Henry. He accepted it with both hands and a wide smile. “Vanilla bean with extra whipped cream.” Emma’s eyes lit up. “And butterscotch.” She placed the last glass in front of Killian.

Granny handed the tray to one of her waitresses. She looked at Killian. “I saw all those pictures Ruby was posting. Looks like you had a good day.”

He nodded, one hand wrapped around his milkshake. “It was. Thanks for letting me borrow her.”

Granny let out a quiet huff. “I need something for out here.” She gestured at the tables. “Nothing that’s going to bring bees and nothing that needs to be watered every three hours.”

“When do you need it?” Killian was already thinking of the program Elsa had installed, the one that tracked his inventory and linked directly to three of his suppliers. He could find something to suit Granny’s requirements.

“Let’s say Wednesday. Bring everything together.” She glanced over at Henry. “How is it?”

“Awesome,” he answered.

Granny nodded, clearly pleased. “Your food will be out in a few.” 

The butterscotch milkshake was better than he remembered. Why Granny wouldn’t make it a regular menu item was beyond his comprehension. Emma swirled her straw through the whipped cream with a contented expression.

Henry set his milkshake aside. “Killian do you know any of the constellations?”

Emma leaned back in her chair, waiting for the answer. He nodded, not sure why Henry was asking. “A few. My brother taught me.”

“Really?" Henry leaned over the table, narrowly missing Emma's milkshake. "Could you show me?" 

"I could." He looked over at Emma. Beneath the strings of lights her hair glowed like something out of a fairytale (or he’d been awake too long and everything had taken on a slight shimmer).  
  
Emma nodded in agreeement, her foot brushing his shin, and a plan unfurled in his mind. School was nearly finished; they could go out in the afternoon without watching the time.  
  
"Perhaps we’ll borrow Leroy’s boat? Make a day of it.” He was rewarded with matching smiles. Killian squeezed Emma's knee beneath the table. He leaned forward, nose close to her ear. "Alright?"

"Better than alright," she replied, moving her chair closer.

  
/////

By the following Saturday Killian felt like he was trapped in a time loop. The online ordering sent a steady flow of emails to the store's inbox, from simple (pink roses tied with twine) to complex (requesting flowers he barely recognized from the inventory list).

After his third order for balloons, he'd sent Will two towns over for extra supplies. Will had returned with a receipt longer than Killian's arm, dozens of spools of lace and ribbon and burlap, and five bags of multicolored balloons. The back office smelled strongly of plastic and they'd begun keeping the door closed.

Killian glanced up at the clock - it was nearly three - but he still needed to pull the mess of flowers scattered across the table into bunches. They'd begun making the starter bouquets on Wednesday; small enough to be sold individually but the perfect base for larger arrangements. Ruby had dropped off new signs earlier in the day, after Will's cardboard placards had begun to warp and curl in the refrigerated case.

"You need to get out of here."

He looked over his shoulder. Belle must have come through the back entrance. Now that the garage was cleared out, he needed to remember to check both locks before leaving for the night.

Belle dropped her purse and a large canvas bag on the counter. Hands free, she began brushing his discarded stems into the plastic bin. "These are looking good." She gently moved an armful of ferns away from the table.

Killian tried to move out of her way, hitting his leg against the stool. "Shouldn't you be at work?"

She shook her head. "We close at five. Abby can handle it."

Belle turned abruptly and headed down the hall. Killian transferred his last two arrangements into the case, wiping his hands on a papertowel.

"You need a break," she told him, returning with a towel in one hand and a bottle in the other. She sprayed the table quickly and began to wipe down the table in long strokes. "I can cover the store."

He frowned; Belle had a full-time job. The shop was his responsibility. He'd made her a promise. Killian tried to protest that six days into their venture was too soon to relax, but Belle didn't listen.

She tossed the towel across the table and without a word, pulled four takeaway containers from her bag, followed by plastic forks and a wad of napkins.

Killian raised an eyebrow. "Am I in your way?" He couldn't resist teasing Belle.

She placed a glass bottle on the counter. "No." Belle's cheeks flushed pink. "Yes." She was a terrible liar. 

"I told Will I'd help him close." The blush spread down her neck but she didn't stop. "You've been here late all week. We can handle this."

"Really?" He rocked on his heels. "And what exactly are you handling?"

Belle clicked her tongue and scowled at Killian. She grabbed his keys from the counter and tossed them underhand. "You're closed tomorrow anyway. Go home Killian."

He caught the keys, slipping them into his pocket. His phone was still in his back pocket. "Alright."

Leaving the shop without checking the lights and locking the door was disorienting. When he stepped outside, Killian was surprised to see sunlight.

Home. He stood on the sidewalk, staring at the truck parked by the curb. Despite his exhaustion, returning to the house with its never-ending list of projects was unappealing. He  turned on his heel, another destination in mind.

When he opened the hardware store's door, the familiar smells greeted him. He headed straight for the counter.

Emma's voice carried through the store. "It is a big deal. You drove a forklift through Anderson's store."

Henry was sitting beside the register, book clutched in both hands. Killian nodded in greeting, looking around for Emma.

Killian caught a glimpse of Emma's ponytail before she disappeared down aisle three. "Do you know how long that store's been on Main Street?" She didn't wait for the person on the other end to answer. "It's probably a freaking historical landmark."

He glanced over at Henry who seemed unmoved by the scene. "What're you reading?"

Henry turned the cover so Killian could read the title.

"Is it good?" The question sounded trite, even to his tired ears, but Henry put down the book without complaint.

"I guess. I like all the stuff about the Olympians."

Emma was still arguing loudly with whoever was on the phone. "I know it's important," she barked into the phone. "But that's not my problem. And neither is telling the Mayor why there's a truck where the display window used to be. But I'll start calling around for you."

Killian crossed his arms. "Is it for school?"

Henry shook his head. "Nah. My dad bought it for me."

Emma's arrival interrupted any questions Killian might have asked. She dropped the phone into the wall receiver.

"Sorry," she said to Henry, bracing both hands on the counter.

"Everything alright?" Killian asked in a low voice, eyebrows coming together.

She scowled. "If you're not Anderson, maybe."

"What happened?" Henry set aside his book, eyes wide with curiousity.

"Remember how I told you to never ever drive a piece of equipment if you don't know how?" Emma fixed Henry with an expression that made Killian's stomach flip. Henry nodded. "Well Tony borrowed a forklift to pull down that old fence around his patio. And he had no clue what he was doing so instead of expanding his outdoor seating area, he took out Anderson's window display. Drove right through the store." She shook her head. "They're lucky no one was hurt."

Henry nodded. Killian wondered how many times he'd listened to Emma lecture about the danger of power tools and equipment.

"What's broken?" Emma turned her attention to Killian.

"Nothing." He held up both hands in surrender. "Belle's going to close up for me." Suddenly he felt foolish, imposing on Emma and Henry's afternoon. He should have gone home. There were more than enough projects to fill his afternoon and evening.

"Really?" Emma's smile took him by surprise.

"Come to the movies with us," Henry interrupted.

Emma shook her head, ponytail sliding over her shoulders. "Henry, he might have plans."

Killian raised an eyebrow at Henry. "What movie?" He didn't remember the last time he'd seen a movie in a theater.

Henry's smile widened. "Jurassic Park."

"He's been putting it in the suggestion box for almost a year," Emma supplied. "I think he finally wore Johanna down."

"Fine choice."

"Is that a yes?" Emma's eyebrows lifted and he nodded. "Good," she answered.

Emma reached beneath the counter and pulled out her purse. "Henry are you bringing your book?"

He shook his head, handing it to Emma. It disappeared into her bag. She slung the strap over her shoulder. "Are you guys ready?"

"Aye," Killian answered. He hadn't realized they meant to leave immediatiely, but it didn't matter. Thanks to Belle, he was free until Monday morning.

Emma flicked off the lights and turned the sign to Closed. Outside the shop, Henry and Killian waited for her to lock the door.

"Do you like roller coasters?" Henry didn't look at Killian, balancing on the edge of the curb.

Killian nodded. He'd been fifteen the first time he'd gone upside down on a coaster, weaving his way through the line four times in search of the thrill, until Liam had dragged him to another ride.

"I do."

Henry still didn't look up. "My mom hates them."

Killian didn't know how to answer. Emma was bent over the door.

Henry leaned forward, voice barely louder than a whisper. "She only goes on with me because she says I'm too young to go alone."

Relief made Killian feel weightless. He couldn't resist teasing Emma, pitching his voice loud enough so she could hear. "Is that right Swan?"

She straightened up quickly, dropping the key ring into her purse. "Is what right?"

Killian crossed his arms. "Henry was telling me about your love of coasters."

Henry struggled to hide his laughter. Emma's cheeks blanched. "I don't mind them," she replied.

Unconvinced, Killian's smile broadened. "Of course. Perhaps we could test that theory this summer."

Henry nodded enthusiastically, hair falling over his forehead. "Can we Mom?"

She crossed her arms, mirroring Killian. "I guess. Come on, we don't want to miss the movie, right?"

Henry walked in front of them. As they crossed the street, Emma slipped her hand into Killian's, squeezing it gently.

"What about the window?" He didn't want to meddle in her shop (or her business) but her behavior seemed strange.

Emma grimaced, slowing their pace until Henry was out of earshot. "Billy gave me the head's up on Tuesday. I took measurements for all of Tony and Anderson's windows, just in case." She shrugged, the movement hindered by his hand clutching hers. "There's this guy in Worchester who does a bunch of salvage work. He had a couple of options. I already sent him a text. Robin's going to arrange the details on Monday."

Killian couldn't contain his laughter. "You're a marvel."

She shook her head. "Not really."

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "Emma Swan, Savior of Storybrooke."

She chuckled, ducking her head against his chest. "You're delirious. I think the lack of sleep has finally hit."

"Come on." Henry turned to face Killian and Emma, the theater marquee over his shoulder. "If we're late, we can't vote."

"Here. Go get the tickets." Emma reached into her purse but Killian passed Henry a folded bill before she could retrieve her wallet.

"Allow me," he said, dipping forward in a bow. Emma rolled her eyes but nodded at Henry who took the money with a bright "thanks Killian."

"Wait for us at the basket, okay?" Henry nodded quickly, already opening the door.

Killian frowned in confusion but Emma pointed at The Garden's marquee. "See how there's no second show? That's what he wants to vote for."

"Ahh." He shook his head. "This town has some strange ideas of entertainment."

Emma pulled him toward the door with both hands. "Come on. Henry's probably already filled out our votes."

Killian followed her into the lobby; he could get used to the feel of Emma's hand wrapped around his upper arm. The theater smelled like buttered popcorn and cookies. He glanced at the small concession cart, stomach growling in anticipation.

"Vote first. Food second," Emma said, following his gaze.

"Come on," Henry urged from his position to their left. He brandished their slips of paper like golden tickets. "I already voted."

Killian followed Emma across the lobby. Despite his exhaustion, for the first time in a long while, he was back on solid ground.

 


	13. epilogue

_Several months later....._

The alarm beeped loudly from the bedside table. Emma pressed her cheek against the pillow with a groan. "We need to get up."

“Not yet." Killian silenced the alarm, pressing snooze for the second time. "It's only five."

Emma rolled onto her back, tugging the sheet over her chest. "Liar."

He chuckled. "Alright. It's five twenty."

Killian pushed himself up, back pressed against the headboard.

Emma sighed heavily and sat beside him, pillows abandoned. “Exactly. I should go. Avery's mom is bringing Henry back at seven."

Killian pulled her legs across his lap, avoiding the sunburn on her right shin.

She took his hand, lacing their fingers together. “I wish summer didn’t have to end.”

The weather had already begun to change, even though there were a few days left in August.

Killian touched one finger to the tip of her nose. “The future’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“Are you going to start quoting inspirational posters?” Emma teased. “Because I’ll tell Jack you changed your mind, and you can install your own shower.”

His chest vibrated with laughter. “You wouldn’t Swan.”

“Want to test me?”

She let out a yelp when his fingers connected with the ticklish spot behind her knee. "Fine I give," she replied, twisting away from Killian. She stretched across the bed, sheet twisted beneath her back, and stared at the wooden beams of the ceiling. Outside the high windows the sky was already beginning to lighten.

"What do you think about tile?”

“In general?” Emma tucked one arm beneath her head with a yawn. "I think we've had this conversation."

Killian leaned over and trailed his fingers across her arm. “For the laundry room.”

Emma considered it. “Why don’t you use the same one as the bathroom? It’s right across the hall.”

“Hmm. Maybe. I was thinking something black and white. With a different paint color."

Emma tried not to groan. It had taken the better part of a fortnight for Killian to settle on colors for the bedrooms and the kitchen. She had thought the bathrooms would be simple.

She sat up quickly. This conversation required coffee. “No. If you want to get fancy, talk to Jefferson. Let him pick new paint colors.”

“I don’t want to pay a designer,” Killian protested.

Emma scowled. “I didn’t say you did. But I’ll see if he can pull some options together.”

Killian didn’t look convinced.

The alarm sounded for a third time. Emma leaned over Killian and slapped the snooze button lightly. "Now I really need to go."

He turned onto his side. “Stay. I'll make breakfast."

Emma shook her head. “I can't." Avery's mom was almost always early and Emma didn't want to be coming home at the same time as Henry.

She kissed his cheek and slipped out of bed. Emma retrieved her clothes from the floor. She'd left her sandals and purse downstairs. She slipped her clothes on quickly; the floor was warm beneath her bare feet but Killian needed to pick a carpet before the weather turned cold.

"Text me when you’re downstairs.” Emma trailed one hand over his shoulder. Killian caught her fingers in his hand, bringing it to his lips and brushing a kiss over the knuckles. "I'll see you soon love."

"Don't fall back asleep," she replied, pulling open the bedroom door.  
   
/////

Emma stared blearily at the activity. Mary Margaret had pulled out all the stops for the last farmer’s market of the summer.

The street was blocked off with orange cones and wooden barriers. Graham was trying (unsuccessfully) to drive a flag into the ground. Emma waved to David who was setting up parking areas – as predicted the market was a draw for visitors and locals.

She was glad the Farmer's Market had been a success but getting up early was painful. Henry had come home two minutes after seven and immediately dropped his backpack on the table and raced to his room. He'd had spent nearly every weekend (except for Neal's July visit) shadowing Killian. Emma wondered when the shine would wear off, but Henry continued to set his alarm without complaint. He hadn't even protested when Ruby had enlisted him for a pre-sunrise photo session.

Somewhere between May and the end of school, Henry had taken over the flower shop's social media. His posts were by far the most popular, even though most of the likes were from Robin's wife or Belle.

Mid-June Emma had stopped asking what was posted where; the conversation always ended with Ruby or Henry insisting that the hardware store needed its own account. She'd given in reluctantly but had posted less than ten pictures.

Mary Margaret was already rearranging the white tables, directing Leroy and Tom over her shoulder. She waved to Emma, her smile too bright and cheerful for such an early hour.

Emma managed a quick wave. The air was still cool and she jammed both hands into her jacket pockets.

“Morning guys,” Little John said, wheeling two bicycles out of the garage.

Emma mumbled back something that could have been a greeting. She needed to talk to Little John about getting Henry a bike for his birthday.

Killian tossed Henry his key ring. "Why don't you start moving the buckets?" Henry caught the key and darted through the maze of tables.

Little John stepped back, considering the line he was building.

“Move the pink one,” Ruby said, looking through her camera lens, phone sticking out of her back pocket.

“Mm you’re right.” Little John shifted the bicycle in question.

They watched the flurry of activity until it became obvious that they were in the way.

“Here, take this.” Killian pressed a thermos into her hands. Emma tried to smile around another yawn. He'd met them downstairs at seven-thirty with a thermos in one hand and pastries in the other.

"Come on.” Killian reached for Emma's hand. She shifted the thermos to her left hand and allowed herself to be led to a bench close to the flower shop's front door. Out of the way of the activity, she leaned her head against his shoulder.

Killian took the thermos and twisted off the lid, pouring coffee into the tiny cup. “Here.”

She perked up visibly at the steam rising from the cup. Emma took the cup with a grateful smile. “My hero,” she deadpanned, inhaling deeply.

“Stay here,” he said, standing up quickly.

“Okay.” Her forehead wrinkled in confusion but she had enough coffee to last at least twenty minutes.

Anton was unloading bushels of vegetables from the bed of his truck but he waved at Emma. She waved back, coffee clutched in one hand.

"Hey mom," Henry called, carrying a large bucket of flowers with both hands. Emma swallowed hard; next summer he'd probably carry one in each hand. She watched him deliver the flowers to Will who already looked overwhelmed at the sight of his table. Emma glanced over her shoulder but instead of Killian she saw Belle.

"Morning." Emma shifted away from the center of the bench to make room.

"Good morning." Belle sat down on Emma's right side, one leg crossed over the other. The toes of her sneakers were wet from the grass.

Emma glanced over. The pendant on Belle's necklace sparkled beneath the lights Mary Margaret had strung around the perimeter. "How's it going?"

Belle yawned loudly. "I can't wait until the summer program is over." She shook her head. "I mean Henry's great..."

Emma laughed. "I know." She didn't understand how Belle managed to keep her sanity during the eight-week town-wide program. It was one part camp, one part summer school. But Henry loved it, Jefferson's daughter loved it, and most of the town was involved.

Mary Margaret was in her element, switching effortlessly from teacher to program director. Anton had hosted berry picking three times; David had taken the entire group (all twenty-four kids) to see his mother's goats. Robin and Little John alternated wilderness adventures, taking the group fishing and hiking and scouring the beach for different types of rocks (Emma hadn't known that Little John's undergrad degree was in geology until Henry had taken over the kitchen window ledge with rocks).

Belle pulled her long hair into a ponytail. "I told Will after we move his stuff next weekend that I want to get out of here. I need a vacation."

Emma nodded. She'd asked Belle twice if they needed help, but according to Belle most of Will's apartment was filled with rented furniture. He only needed to move his clothes and his entire movie collection.

"Oh I almost forgot." Belle glanced over her shoulder and shifted closer to Emma. "Your box got here yesterday."

Emma smiled widely. She'd been planning Killian's birthday present for nearly a month, driving Sleepy (Anthony James, Sleepy to everyone in town after he'd passed out in the middle of a Miner's Day festival and woken up the following morning) to frustration with her requests. The box in question should contain the same model record player that Killian had sold several years ago; Belle had found an old picture from Killian and Milah's apartment and sent it to Emma.

Killian jumped over the last two steps and landed heavily on the sidewalk.

Belle stood up quickly. "I better go make sure Walter's table is far enough away from ours," she said to no one in particular. "See you later."

 "Bye," Emma replied quietly.

Killian sat down next to Emma, one hand behind his back.

She eyed him with suspicion. "What are you up to?”

“Emma, I…” Killian shook his head and pulled his hand from behind his back, fingers wrapped around a delicate stem. “This is for you."

"Oh." The petals went from light to dark, with a vibrant golden center. “What is it?”

“Garden rose,” he replied. "Do you like it?"

She turned the flower between her fingers. It reminded her of sunlight. "I thought you didn’t like yellow."

“You said it was your favorite.”

"Thank you." Emma touched the petals gently. The flower was gorgeous but it didn't explain Killian's strange expression. "Is this why I'm sitting here?"

He shook his head. "No." Killian pulled a creased paper from his pocket and held it up for her inspection. "This is."

Emma squinted but couldn't read any of the small type.

"It’s the last check we need to pay Cora.”  
 Emma's eyes widened. "You're serious?"

"Aye."

Her face felt like it would crack beneath her smile. Emma slid across the bench, pressing her knees against Killian's legs. She kissed him quickly, careful not to crush the flower. Killian took her hand with a chuckle, weaving their fingers together, and Emma leaned back against the bench.

"Is that it?"

He shook his head with a smile. “Liam’s coming for a visit in October. For two weeks. He said he expects a skylight in his room.”

She let out a peal of laughter and leaned over, kissing Killian before he could say any more. Emma was vaguely aware of a flash near her right eye.

When she checked her phone that afternoon, the photo of her and Killian beneath the flower shop's sign was the shop’s most liked post.

\-- end --


End file.
